The Road to Self

We've Moved

2010-09-04T11:24:00.001-06:00

We here at The Road to Self have moved onto greener pastures.

You might be looking for this: http://slarue85.wordpress.com/.

Irish Poetry!

2010-04-28T00:33:00.008-06:00

Today in my Modern British Authors class, we discussed this poem by Eavan Boland - an Irish, female poet. I haven't enjoyed MANY of the works we've read for this class. But we recently forayed into the great world of post-modernism and contemporary literature. I was so struck by this poem that I had to share:

"Anorexic" by Eavan Boland
Flesh is heretic.
My body is a witch.
I am burning it.

Yes I am torching
ber curves and paps and wiles.
They scorch in my self denials.

How she meshed my head
in the half-truths
of her fevers

till I renounced
milk and honey
and the taste of lunch.

I vomited
her hungers.
Now the bitch is burning.

I am starved and curveless.
I am skin and bone.
She has learned her lesson.

Thin as a rib
I turn in sleep.
My dreams probe

a claustrophobia
a sensuous enclosure.
How warm it was and wide

once by a warm drum,
once by the song of his breath
and in his sleeping side.

Only a little more,
only a few more days
sinless, foodless,

I will slip
back into him again
as if I had never been away.

Caged so
I will grow
angular and holy

past pain,
keeping his heart
such company

as will make me forget
in a small space
the fall

into forked dark,
into python needs
heaving to hips and breasts
and lips and heat
and sweat and fat and greed

For those of you who might be lost and don't have the benefit of the foot notes that I had access to, the speaker of the poem is Eve, and she wishes she could go back into Adam as his rib rather than stay her own entity. What I love about this poem is how the problematic aspects of religion are being compared to, in essence, a disease: woman feels so much pressure to be perfect, the only logical thing to do is to return to man to be redeemed from the "sin" of Eve. I think what struck home to me about this work is the comparison to becoming thin and beautiful, more near to the "perfect idealized" woman in order to become more righteous. The woman who is curvy and luscious, well, that woman is sinful. I see this in many ways in my own religious culture - the idea that if one can be a close to an ideal size or figure as possible, the more god-like and worthy she is. Additionally, another critique I love is that, in the speaker's mind, for her to be perfect, she needs to be absorbed in patriarchy to become whole. It's poems like these that make me realize that how great God truly is, and how great my curvy, luscious, and sometimes sinful womanhood is. Without these types of glaring, blasphemous critiques, I think I would feel alone. Anyways, food for thought - any other takers? And I should mention, I normally don't dig on poetry.

Also, and not entirely randomly since I just broke out in my semi-annual cold sores induced by stress, I wanted to let you all know, according to GentialHerpes.com, you CAN spread oral herpes to genitals. http://www.herpes.com/genitalinfo.shtml. I was more curious than anything since I've heard many different sides to the story, so thank you google for educating me!

Summer Time... and the Reading's Easy

2010-04-28T00:27:00.003-06:00

I hope you all enjoyed my Sublime reference/pun. So, my geeky intellectual friends and I have risen to the challenge of a former professor/kick-ass mentor and made summer reading lists. Here are mine: I hope you feel inspired... especially to read banned books!

1. "Animal Farm" by George Orwell

2. "Their Eyes Were Watching God" by Zora Neale Hurston
3. "A Tree Grows in Brooklyn" by Betty Smith
4. "Brave New World" by Aldous Huxley
5. "Fahrenheit 451" by Ray Bradbury
6. "The Road" by Cormac McCarthy
7. "High Fidelity" by Nick Hornby
8. "Lolita" by Vladimir Nabakov
9. "Reading Lolita in Tehran" by Azar Nafisi
10. "The Screwtape Letters" by C.S. Lewis
11. "Midnight's Children" by Salman Rushdie
12. "The Country Girls" by Edna O'Brien
13. "The Green Hills of Africa" by Ernest Hemingway
14. "The Infernal Desire Machines of Doctor Hoffman" by Angela Carter
15. "Selected Poems" by Eavan Boland
16. "The Foreskin's Lament" by Shalom Auslander

I feel a little like a cheater by making a summer reading list, because, right now, my summer looks to be indefinite - no more school, at least for a few years, and no job offers. But, in the grand tradition of Cedar City summers, I'll pick a 16 week summer to work with so that I can get some quality reading in. Thanks Todd, Rae, Joe, and Grburbank for the great idea! I think we should, at some point, compare and see if we are making our goals.

Side note - there are a lot of staples on here that I haven't had the time to read. I own many of the books on this list so rather than buy new ones, I shall peruse my own selection. Please don't judge me :)

There are some big names on here that I haven't read - which makes me kind of sad since I'm finishing my Master of Arts .... in LITERATURE. But, there's no time like the present to catch up!

Labels

2010-03-07T17:20:00.003-07:00

I don't like them. At all.

I'm not going to be all "holier-than-thou" and say I never apply them, because I totally do. I'm working on it though.

One label I am constantly dodging, and admittedly omit until asked, is the fact that I'm Mormon. I don't like other Mormons to know I'm Mormon because frankly, they're disappointed when I don't meet their expectations of Mormon-ness. This is fine. Our church is about a personal relationship with God and I know that He loves me and my Mormon-ness.

I omit that I'm Mormon to those who are not because most of them have horror stories or super-creepy-all-too-personal questions that, frankly, are inappropriate and uncomfortable or loaded in nature. I'd rather people get to know me as the good person I'm trying to be and accept me for my values and how I practice those values as opposed to labeling me with a scarlet "M" that they are unwilling to see past. (And let me note, this is not everyone. My practice of omitting until asked began because of a choice few who were ass-hats.)

However, I have found peace in this practice, YEA, even joy :D No, really. I figure if someone really wants to know, they'll ask. And, it's usually the right kind of person, who already knows me, that asks and my Mormon-ness does not seem weird at that point. Allowing myself to live beyond a label - Mormon - has allowed me develop my life and path in a broader spectrum. I'm not confined to a certain attitude or word. I'm entitled to find useful purposes for doctrine and to think beyond the fact that "I'm Mormon so I can't." Doing this has also allowed me to question on a deeper and more meaningful level because in so many ways, Mormons can't or aren't allowed to question, but someone striving to live the doctrine of the L.D.S. church, or someone striving to live life to the fullest in any other context, can question and not be judged or condemned for doing so.

I felt the same relief from label-stress when I gave up on deciding to be Republican or Democrat.

That's one label I've been ditching.

However, in my particular case, I don't think labels would be completely useless. In light of a series of unfortunate incidents in the past six months, I think I SHOULD come with this label:

"Attention MOST men who are married or in serious/committed relationships and find themselves unhappy - you WlLL BE attracted to me. Don't worry, this is standard operating procedure. Just keep your thoughts and hands and phone numbers to yourselves. Single men who are looking for love - you WILL NOT be attracted to me. If you wish to be, get married or get serious and then wait to see if you find yourselves unhappy."

My Family Wins

2010-02-26T14:01:00.004-07:00

No. Really. They do.

Let me explain why they win. I've been applying to jobs all over the country and my back-up plan has been returning to where I grew up in Southern California before we moved to Utah. My grandparents, some aunts and uncles and cousins, and very good friends still live in the same vicinity. While I've been hoping to get a good paying job and decided that I would move where I needed to move, I wasn't exactly excited about the prospect of having to start all over again - new friends, new church, new stores (it's so effing difficult to find items in new stores), new roads, etc., but no family. All the places I've been applying to will be far away and I'd most likely only get to see my family members once or twice a year. For some families, that's totally fine and perhaps even the preferred/necessary M.O. But, that's not my family: that's not me.

The more I thought about my back-up plan, the more I wanted it to be my real plan, even though there are very few positions open for faculty in SoCal right now. For my academically minded head, choosing to go there is irresponsible. What a waste, right? I've spent two years, thousands of dollars, and countless tears to put myself in the position to be a faculty member, not adjunct, not part-time, but full-time. This is what academia expects of me and this, without my realizing it, is the philosophy I've adopted for myself.

After two big conversations, Rae and Cynthia - thank you, I realized I needed to prioritize MY needs and after figuring them out, no one is going to convince me differently... except for that day I know will come in the future when my needs will actually change.

Many people will say I should use this time to pay off my student loans and get myself into a good school so I can get into a good Ph.D. program so I can be a good professor one day. Others will say I should be more independent or adventurous or less scared. And that's okay. They can say those things.

But I'll say, "This is what I'm choosing and it's making me happy." One day I will get into a good Ph.D. program and become a kick-ass professor. One day, my student loans will be paid off. Right now, my adventure is for once, listening to my heart and not my head. My adventure is returning to a place I said I'd never live again and finding peace in that decision. My adventure is trading probably monetary security for the likelihood of less money and being okay with that decision.

And this is why my family is awesome:

I called my mom last night and instead of talking me out of it, because she's one of the very rational voices in my head when I'm emotional, she said she knew I was making the right decision for myself.

I called my dad this morning. He said, "Follow your heart. You'll be successful wherever you go. If this is what your heart is telling you, it's right."

I told a couple of my cousins my plan and I immediately had two offerings for housing and genuine excitement at my return. They said they'd look for jobs and pray for me.

And this is why my family wins. We're a family that no matter what the circumstances are always there for each other. A laugh, some food, a good cry, or emotional support in the face of a life changing decision. I know not everyone is as lucky as me.

My decision to go to SoCal didn't even take 24 hours to be affirmed as a right decision because my family is kick-ass. I'm so thankful that my heart told me quality of life.

The Size of My Pants

2010-02-16T08:57:00.000-07:00

I guess I can't play the "I never date" card or the "Opportunities never present themselves" card. I do have a fair amount of opportunities, but I really haven't had anyone I'd consider my boyfriend in over three years. There was one dude last April, but he turned out not to be so nice and even after a month of seeing each other almost everyday, I still did not give him the title of boyfriend - a very wise and empowering decision in retrospect since he turned out to be such a douchebag.

Last semester, there was one foray into dating and ended as badly as any could. It's taken me months to internalize and process one comment he said to me in October, so two nights ago, I think I was dealing with all the crap I haven't cried for.

This boy was actually a dear friend and one of my closest here in Flagstaff. We had awesome conversations about life and the Church, films, comic books, and Dexter. I could be myself with him. I trusted him. I thought he saw through the same social constructs I did, especially when it came to social Mormon ideologies. I thought, If this is not the man I'm meant to be with, I'm glad I know one can exist in the Church. So, most of all, he gave me an exponential amount of hope that if one day I do get married, I will not have to give up my creativity or my educational pursuits, that balancing motherhood, wifehood, and self would be a real possibility.

When I returned to Flag in August, we spent a lot of time together. I soon realized that the friend I had no feelings for and had always wanted to like.... well, I was beginning to deeply like him. After two months of trying to read between the lines, I was straight-up and honest - something he said he completely respected me for. He said he needed time to think.

After about a week, he came back and we had a lengthy conversation. There were many complications that I do not wish to discuss, but when it came to me, he said he had very much been entertaining the thought of being with me because he recognized the value or our type of friendship being the basis for a relationship. However, and I'm going to directly quote as far as my memory is reliable, he looked me in the eye and said, "You know, whenever I think about dating someone, she's a supermodel. And well, you're not a Size 2."

He said he ultimately didn't think he could date me for a few other reasons, but, I have dated someone who was emotionally abusive, and I think this may be one of the most hurtful things anybody has ever said to me. Ever.

Right then and there, I knew I had no more feelings for him, and upon further reflection, I no longer want to be friends with him. Because you know what buddy? Damn straight I'm not a size 2 (paradoxically, neither is he... surprising, I know). I will NEVER be a size 2 and how dare you place the value of my love and abilities to be an amazing partner in a relationship on the size of my pants.

That process took milliseconds to work out in my head - thankfully. But what I have struggled to regain is my faith. This person that I thought more highly of than many others, trusted, confided in, and appreciated for a year in one sentence undid everything I did have faith in. (This probably explains my recent foray into dating/being interested in only non-members.)

I lost my faith because, while yes, perhaps I should have not been so trusting or put all of my faith eggs in one big, unworthy basket, in my ways, I feel like I've lost the opportunity to find someone who will do for me the things I know I am deserving of. If it takes a whole year to find out the true heart of a person, specifically a person I'm interested in, then how can I have faith?

And that... that is something I am still working on reconciling.

Lucy Belle La Rue

2009-10-11T09:47:00.004-06:00

"The dog is a gentleman; I hope to go to his heaven, not man's."

- Mark Twain

Last night, on our way out the door, we noticed one of our family dogs was struggling for life. Lucy, my dad's hunting dog, has been in congestive heart failure for a couple of weeks, and we were hoping she would last a few more, but she took a sudden turn for the worse. Really sudden. Yesterday afternoon, she still had a little bounce in her step and was wagging her tail. By six o'clock last night, she could not move and her respiratory rate was through the roof. As we heard her lungs fill with fluid and watched her suffer for a hour and a half, we decided to do the only thing we could for her.

It's been a tough few months in the La Rue house, so I think what broke my heart the most was seeing how vulnerable my dad was. He didn't lose my mom a few months ago, but he lost another companion. Lucy was his first dog ever. He trained her and cared for her. While she was a family dog, she was really his dog. I've only seen my dad cry twice before last night.

Losing Lucy, though, puts into stark contrast how important family is, because in our family, a dog is a fur-person, a valued member of our little clan. My brother and I were able to be home by coincidence, and as we stood in a group hug, I thanked God that we were. I thanked God that we have a strong family whose members are always there for each other, even if they can only lick our faces when we feel bad.

I'm much more than a dog-person; now that I have my own little Sassafrass, I feel, in some small way, like a parent. I literally have anxiety when I'm gone from her sometimes, worrying about if she'll get into something that will harm her or if she is outside, if the other dog will hurt her. I hope she's happy with me as her person.

And I think that this is why losing Lucy is so hard. She wasn't my dog, but she was important to me. We've had her since we moved to Utah. She grew up with my brother and me. My dad had very specific rules for her and that my brother and I liked to break. I always snuck her into my bedroom to sleep on the bed, even though my dad hated that. When we went places in my car, she got to sit on the front seat and not the floorboards. I'll miss her little carefree expressions. She was always excited about something and seemed to say, "Hey! Why isn't everyone as happy as me?!" She was very loyal and snuggly and good.

We'll miss you, Lucy Belle.

Need a Laugh?

2009-09-28T23:36:00.002-06:00

I stole this from a friend's blog linked from another friend's blog. After a long day, I needed some laughs. Also, I might identify with all of these.

Random thoughts from people our age...

-I wish Google Maps had an "Avoid Ghetto" routing option.

-More often than not, when someone is telling me a story all I can
think about is that I can't wait for them to finish so that I can tell
my own story that's not only better, but also more directly involves
me.

-Nothing sucks more than that moment during an argument when you
realize you're wrong.

-Have you ever been walking down the street and realized that you're
going in the complete opposite direction of where you are supposed to
be going? But instead of just turning a 180 and walking back in the
direction from which you came, you have to first do something like
check your watch or phone or make a grand arm gesture and mutter to
yourself to ensure that no one in the surrounding area thinks you're
crazy by randomly switching directions on the sidewalk.

-That's enough, Nickelback.

-I totally take back all those times I didn't want to nap when I was younger.

-Is it just me, or are 80% of the people in the "people you may know"
feature on Facebook people that I do know, but I deliberately choose
not to be friends with?

-Do you remember when you were a kid, playing Nintendo and it wouldn't
work? You take the cartridge out, blow in it and that would magically
fix the problem. Every kid in America did that, but how did we all
know how to fix the problem? There was no internet or message boards
or FAQ's. We just figured it out. Today's kids are soft.

-There is a great need for sarcasm font.

-Sometimes, I'll watch a movie that I watched when I was younger and
suddenly realize I had no idea what the f was going on when I first
saw it.

-I think everyone has a movie that they love so much, it actually
becomes stressful to watch it with other people. I'll end up wasting
90 minutes shiftily glancing around to confirm that everyone's
laughing at the right parts, then making sure I laugh just a little
bit harder (and a millisecond earlier) to prove that I'm still the
only one who really, really gets it.

-How the hell are you supposed to fold a fitted sheet?

-I would rather try to carry 10 plastic grocery bags in each hand than
take 2 trips to bring my groceries in.

- I think part of a best friend's job should be to immediately clear
your computer history if you die.

-The only time I look forward to a red light is when I’m trying to
finish a text.

- Was learning cursive really necessary?

- Lol has gone from meaning, "laugh out loud" to "I have nothing else to say".

- I have a hard time deciphering the fine line between boredom and hunger.

- Answering the same letter three times or more in a row on a Scantron
test is absolutely petrifying.

- My brother's Municipal League baseball team is named the Stepdads.
Seeing as none of the guys on the team are actual stepdads, I inquired
about the name. He explained, "Cuz we beat you, and you hate us."
Classy, bro.

- Whenever someone says "I'm not book smart, but I'm street smart",
all I hear is "I'm not real smart, but I'm imaginary smart".

- How many times is it appropriate to say "What?" before you just nod
and smile because you still didn't hear what they said?

- I love the sense of camaraderie when an entire line of cars teams up
to prevent a jerk from cutting in at the front. Stay strong, brothers!

- Every time I have to spell a word over the phone using 'as in'
examples, I will undoubtedly draw a blank and sound like a complete
idiot. Today I had to spell my boss's last name to an attorney and
said "Yes that's G as in...(10 second lapse)..ummm...Goonies"

-What would happen if I hired two private investigators to follow each other?

- While driving yesterday I saw a banana peel in the road and
instinctively swerved to avoid it...thanks Mario Kart.

- MapQuest really needs to start their directions on #5. Pretty sure I
know how to get out of my neighborhood.

- Obituaries would be a lot more interesting if they told you how the
person died.

-Shirts get dirty. Underwear gets dirty. Pants? Pants never get dirty,
and you can wear them forever.

-I can't remember the last time I wasn't at least kind of tired.

- Bad decisions make good stories

-Whenever I'm Facebook stalking someone and I find out that their
profile is public I feel like a kid on Christmas morning who just got
the Red Ryder BB gun that I always wanted. 546 pictures? Don't mind if
I do!

- Is it just me or do high school girls get sluttier & sluttier every year?

-If Carmen San Diego and Waldo ever got together, their offspring
would probably just be completely invisible.

-Why is it that during an ice-breaker, when the whole room has to go
around and say their name and where they are from, I get so incredibly
nervous? Like I know my name, I know where I'm from, this shouldn't be
a problem....

-You never know when it will strike, but there comes a moment at work
when you've made up your mind that you just aren't doing anything
productive for the rest of the day.

-Can we all just agree to ignore whatever comes after DVDs? I don't
want to have to restart my collection.

-There's no worse feeling than that millisecond you're sure you are
going to die after leaning your chair back a little too far.

-I'm always slightly terrified when I exit out of Word and it asks me
if I want to save any changes to my ten page research paper that I
swear I did not make any changes to.

- "Do not machine wash or tumble dry" means I will never wash this ever.

-I hate being the one with the remote in a room full of people
watching TV. There's so much pressure. 'I love this show, but will
they judge me if I keep it on? I bet everyone is wishing we weren't
watching this. It's only a matter of time before they all get up and
leave the room. Will we still be friends after this?'

-I hate when I just miss a call by the last ring (Hello? Hello?
Dammit!), but when I immediately call back, it rings nine times and
goes to voicemail. What'd you do after I didn't answer? Drop the phone
and run away?

- I hate leaving my house confident and looking good and then not
seeing anyone of importance the entire day. What a waste.

-When I meet a new girl, I'm terrified of mentioning something she
hasn't already told me but that I have learned from some light
internet stalking.

-I like all of the music in my iTunes, except when it's on shuffle,
then I like about one in every fifteen songs in my iTunes.

-Why is a school zone 20 mph? That seems like the optimal cruising
speed for pedophiles...

- As a driver I hate pedestrians, and as a pedestrian I hate drivers,
but no matter what the mode of transportation, I always hate cyclists.

-Sometimes I'll look down at my watch 3 consecutive times and still
not know what time it is.

-It should probably be called Unplanned Parenthood.

-I keep some people's phone numbers in my phone just so I know not to
answer when they call.

-Even if I knew your social security number, I wouldn't know what do to with it.

-Even under ideal conditions people have trouble locating their car
keys in a pocket and Pinning the Tail on the
Donkey - but I’d bet my ass everyone can find and push the Snooze
button from 3 feet away, in about 1.7 seconds, eyes closed, first time
every time...

-My 4-year old son asked me in the car the other day "Dad what would
happen if you ran over a ninja?" How the hell do I respond to that?

-It really pisses me off when I want to read a story on CNN.com and
the link takes me to a video instead of text.

-I wonder if cops ever get pissed off at the fact that everyone they
drive behind obeys the speed limit.

-I think the freezer deserves a light as well.

-I disagree with Kay Jewelers. I would bet on any given Friday or
Saturday night more kisses begin with Miller Lites than Kay.

-The other night I ordered takeout, and when I looked in the bag, saw
they had included four sets of plastic silverware. In other words,
someone at the restaurant packed my order, took a second to think
about it, and then estimated that there must be at least four people
eating to require such a large amount of food. Too bad I was eating by
myself. There's nothing like being made to feel like a fat bastard
before dinner

Freshman Thought for the Day

2009-08-26T00:44:00.002-06:00

I thought I'd share a thought from one of my ENG 105 students. Today was the second day of class. As it ended, I collected a questionnaire that had been handed out yesterday.

Student giving the paper to me, "I almost didn't do this because I was like, 'There's no way I could have homework on the first day.'"

Me, "........"

Silly freshman, no homework on the first day is for kids.

Dirty Laundry

2009-06-30T23:49:00.008-06:00

Okay. I try not to air out too much dirty laundry in the way of my romantic relationships in the public arena. While there are many reasons for this, I feel that my reasoning for this is two-fold. One. If things are going well, I'm afraid I'll eventually have to eat my gloaty-shorts when things go the way of the proverbial creek. Two. If things are non-euphoric, I don't want to be passive aggressive or tacky by complaining about every little thing. (Out of many personality traits, the passive aggressive trait has the ability to annoy me like Billy Mays - RIP -, large crowds of loud, trashy people and unattended, whaling children at the Wal-Mart, and the emission of strange odors.) Anyways, since life has been pretty slow as of late and I'm seriously at a loss about what the mature and grown-up thing is to do, I'm airing out some unmentionables tonight.

About a month ago I ended a relationship because we wanted very different things from a relationship and from life. It was headed down the tube either way, but I tapped out first. (Admittedly, it was empowering to do so ;).) The end wasn't messy; very simple in fact - only a few awkward and WTF? parts.

Most of the ties have been cut. I'm no longer friends with his sisters on Facebook and he unfriended me on Netflix (Dear Techonology, Thanks for making breaking up more complicated. Love, Slarue). There's just this matter of a book (my favorite kid's book) and an iPod adapter that I lent him and whose possession my possessions are still in. About a week ago, he e-mailed me and asked me how I would like the items returned to me. I asked him to mail them to my house in Utah. He said, well... I think I'd rather give them to any of your friends in Flag.

I didn't immediately return a response. A. I was in Cali (thanks, Rae. I had such an awesome time!). B. I got a new puppy who's wearing the ever-living out of me. C. My extended family is up for the 4th and we've been doing nothing but running around and playing. D. I didn't want to have to re-hash the feelings and thoughts that brought me to the decision to end the relationship in the first place since this is a perfect example of our dynamic. I.E. He thinks I'm needy because I need him to mail the books to me and I think he's selfish for not going to the post office and sending a package media mail. (This would make much more sense if I'd done more blogging in the past.)

Anyways, yes, I should have responded, but alas, I took the easy way out and ignored the problem and simultaneously huffed that the Post Office isn't that far out of the way.

Then another e-mail today (direct quote): "Hope you were not to attached to the things you lent to me =) LOL."

And here is where my problem is. I neither gave permission for my things to be kept, for them to be thrown away, nor did I say they could be given back to me via any other route. Really, I'm not TOO attached because they are just things and I can get them again, but, they are mine. It doesn't really matter if they're given to a friend in Flag other than they become somebody else's responsibility when those things are his responsibility. But, he asked how I wanted them returned to me and I gave a very reasonable option about how I would like and want them returned. It's not like I'm asking for a mailed copy of Bhutan: A Visual Odyssey Across the Last Himalayan Kingdom or for a courier service to deliver a briefcase. It's media mail. Seriously. Two dollars.

And here is where I would like your input, dear reader. What would your response be? Is asking for mail unreasonable when I have friends the book could be given to? Perhaps I should stop letting someone else determine my moods and move onto more productive thoughts like how to train Sassafrass or losing that extra fluff or finding a job after I graduate. Hmmmmm...

This may be the most mundane post ever, but really, it's the culmination of frustration that I'm trying to get past... and really, have done so. It's just reminding me that it was there in the first place. Bleh.

Beginning of Summer Wrap-Up

2009-05-25T14:24:00.002-06:00

It's been a long, long time since I've posted anything of substance... and it'll probably be a few more days before that happens. Here's a quick update of my life since my last post/survey:

I did actually cut my hair and I freaking love it. Some days... the lazy days... I miss my long hair and the option of pulling it up, but short hair is spunky and apparently I'm pretty spunky.

One year of grad school down. One to go. Awoooo! I never - EVER - thought I would be so tired, but I made it through finals and grading.

After oscillating between decisions to stay in Flagstaff and move home to Monroe for the summer, I sporadically decided to move home last Wednesday when I was in California visiting my Merrianne for her graduation. So, instead of taking the I-15 to I-40, I just kept going 'til I hit I-70 in Utah and now I'm home. I heart Monroe and my family. It's been so great to be home and I'm pretty sure it will continue to be great to be here and be unemployed until August. I feel pretty good about being here. I'm glad for the peace that comes with making the right decision.

I went to my hermano-ito's Seminary graduation last night. I'm so proud of him. He's graduating from high school on Friday and that's effing weird.

Terminator Salvation is not good. Don't watch it.

Star Trek is awesomesauce. See that one instead.

I'm trying to catch up on all of that great literature I've supposed to have been reading as an English major, but haven't. Right now, I'm reading The Bell Jar and I'm quite enjoying it. Next on the list is Catcher in the Rye.

I think that's about all.... uhhh. Yeah. Sorry for the unenthusiastic, short post but it's all I can muster. I'm about to drop off into a coma induced by Mexican Food.

Survey Time!

2009-04-03T13:54:00.002-06:00

It's been a long while since I've posted. Here's a quick update: grad school makes me want to shoot myself in the face daily, teaching is going well, I'm in love with The Appleseed Cast, A Fine Frenzy, and on a different note, Tom's Shoes, I went to my first and second drag show in the past five days, English nerds are amazing, and my favorite comment I heard went a little something like this - I'm walking through the Minneapolis airport, minding my own business. Insert attractive black man who makes eye-contact with me. As I walk past, I hear, "Mmmm. I like 'em tall and thick." Start my own girlish amusement.

Anyways. The real point of my post. If you feel a need to leave a comment justifying your reasoning, please please feel free. I like feedback!

Do you like my short hair or my long hair better? (Granted the long hair picture is better and my hair will remain darker.) ( online polls)

Graphic Novel Euphoria

2009-01-27T22:26:00.002-07:00

I shall blog more about this when I am less tired and not recovering from the flu, but I had lunch with Art Spiegelman today. Tonight, I listened to him speak for nearly two hours. Although I've know for a while that I want to get a Ph.D. that will allow me to teach comic books, tonight solidified what I want and need to be doing with my life. And though things change, it looks as though I will be applying for a Ph.D. program directly out of Master's. Woot!

Book List

2009-01-16T09:14:00.004-07:00

Okay, I said I wasn't going to post again for a few days, but many of you wanted to know my books list for my independent study course. So, I will be reading:

One Hundred Demons – Lynda Barry (Paired with the film "Lady Vengeance" or any other in the trilogy)
Fun Home: A Family Tragic Comedy – Alison Bechdel
Palestine – Joe Sacco
American Born Chinese – Gene Luen Yang
Same Difference and Other Stories – Derek Kirk Kim (Paired with the film "Oasis")
Pyongyang: A Journey in North Korea - Guy Delisle
The Alcoholic – Jonathan Ames
Epileptic – David B.
Inconegro – Mat Johnson (Paired with "Alien")
Boondocks – Aaron McGruder
Stuck Rubber Baby – Howard Cruse
Indian Summer – Milo Manara (Paired with the film "Smoke Signals" or "The Business of Fancy Dancing")
La Perdida – Jessica Abel
Berlin: City of Stones – Jason Lutes (Paired with "The Lives of Others")
Exit Wounds - Rutu Modan

I avoided some of the more obvious choices for this category, Maus, Persepolis, Jimmy Corrigan, Shortcomings, Ghost World, etc., because I had already read them, some multiple times. When I designed the course, I was looking to expand my base knowledge instead of relying on prior experience. Not to say that I wouldn't love to re-read those because they are wonderful and engaging.

If any of you have more suggestions, I'd be totally open! I'm still looking for films that can be married to the books, hopefully, it's apparent what my system is, but I'm mostly just reading the books and updating my Netflix queue.

Graphic Novel Splendor

2009-01-15T16:11:00.002-07:00

I've been posting a lot lately and I'm sure that as soon as the semester kicks into full swing, I'll be backing off, but I did want to share this tidbit.

For part of my degree, I have to do an independent study and I've chosen to work with my Native American Lit professor from last semester. He is super interested and invested in getting visual narratives and rhetoric up and running here at NAU. In fact, Art Spiegelman will be here at the end of the month and yesterday, the professor and some colleagues of mine hosted the first of four graphic novel work shops that will be held throughout the course of the semester. Our workshops focus on how to integrate visual narratives into composition and literary classrooms.

Anyhoo, my independent study, a course that I put together, will consist of me reading a graphic novel and watching a film a week. The course is called "Women and Minority Representations in Visual Narratives." I'm super stoked because I'm concentrating on laying a foundation for myself so that I can get into a Ph.D. program specializing in visual rhetoric.

I've got all the graphic novels laid out for the course, but if you have any films dealing with women and minorities you feel are specifically interesting, please feel free to suggest them.

Last bit, I just finished "Same Difference and Other Stories" by Derek Kirk Kim today. Awesome. He has a very different style than other graphic novel authors I've read.

Count Your Many Blessings

2009-01-14T21:13:00.004-07:00

Proceed with caution. Super Mormony post ahead :D

Many of you are familiar with Mormon culture, and if you are not, well, most Mormons try really hard to be happy. We have this little hymn that goes, "When upon life's billows you are tempest tossed / and you are discouraged thinking all is lost... Count your many blessings / name them one by one / and it will surprise you what the Lord hath done."

Normally, I'd take issue with antiquated advice given 150 years ago in the form of a happy go lucky song, but I really enjoy this hymn... mostly because it reminds me that I'm a complainer who should stop complaining and that, in fact, I am very, very blessed.

While there are many blessings I can count, there are four I'd like to concentrate on right now. One. Amazingly supportive family and friends. This past week has - make yourself ready for an antiquated Mormon phrase - made manifest to me that I am loved and worthy of being so. Sometimes I lose sight of that and become very hard on myself. My parents and brother made being at home wonderful and splendid over Christmas. Joe reminds me that I'm neat and belong in grad school. Chel reminds me that being a friend and having a friend is awesome. Rae helps me reevaluate myself and understand beautiful concepts. And these things are the very few qualities I can share that begin to show their depth.

This past week, I had a conversation with an old/new friend, Deb. After a while of talking, she told me that she had put my name on the temple prayer roll, simply because she felt impressed to do so. (The prayer roll is specific to temples because it means that a name is written on a piece of paper and every hour for one week, those names are prayed for.) I can't remember the last time I was so aware of a friend in need when that friend didn't know he or she needed said help in the first place.

Coming back to Flag was super hard for me because my old friend depression started making rounds. Nothing to be concerned about as it has only been slight insomnia and a general laziness - I am now aware and fixing the problem. Woot. Anyways. Since my name has been on the prayer roll, I have not been thinking about it at all actually.... until tonight when I realized that being here has been an incredibly easy transition, my classes are going well, the class that I teach has been going amazingly well, and I've been really happy and active. Friends here have supported me and been extra wonderful this week and I know this is not a coincidence. I have had heavenly help and that is exactly what I need in order to be here and be emotionally and mentally healthy.

This brings me to my second point. I am thankful for temples and the power they bring to this Earth. I'm receiving my endowment in March and I cannot wait to be challenged on a new spiritual level.

Third. I am thankful for the blessings of knowledge, education, and the blessings of being exactly where I need to be.

Lastly. Tonight, I'm really thankful for movies. Yes. Films. My weekend starts tomorrow, Thursday, at 11:30 and I'm cuddling up in my awesome bed and watching some flicks.

Mormony post out!

A Personal Yet Public Prayer

2009-01-13T18:11:00.001-07:00

Heavenly Father,

Please help me to be ready for a man like this: amazing link taking you to an extraordinary post.

Musical Countdown 2008

2009-01-10T23:57:00.005-07:00

A friend on Facebook recently gave me this idea. So, in no way am I being original here, but I think it'll be fun for me anyways.

Many of you know I have a mild obsession with music, so I thought it would be fun to share my Top 10 new songs of 2008. These songs, sometimes of singular enjoyment, for the most part started some kind of love affair, so if any strikes your fancy, I will love having been able to share with you :D (Note - these songs can now be listened to in my handy-dandy music playlist located on the right.)

10. "December is for Cynics" by The Matches

Oh, The Matches. They are kooky and crazy and weird and I totally love them. It took me a few listens to catch onto their style and actually appreciate it, but I am oh-so glad that I did.

"Used is the new black / Downloads are the new crack / Mocking carols that we hate / Damn, it's easy being great"

9. "My Same" by Adele

Many people have heard the amazing single "Hometown Glory" by Adele, but I think I like this song more. Her voice is so deep and rich - I could listen everyday. Maybe it's the sass in her voice or it could be that she's an amazing beautiful woman who just happens to be fluffy, but I love this song!

"You're so provocative, I'm so conservative / You're so adventurous, I'm so very cautious, combining / You'd think we would and we do"

8. "So Contagious" by Acceptance

It's the type of magically wonderfully romantic sentimental love song that only works it's way into my system once every few years.

"Oh no, this couldn't be more unexpected... You're the only one I want to take a shot on / Keep me hanging on, so contagiously"

7. "Jesus Christ" by Brand New

Now, on paper, Brand New should be everything I love in a band, but alas, I do not love them - at all. I have been harsh on their sound and what I felt to be empty lyrics until this song. As such, I make one exception for Brand New and this song is it.

"Jesus Christ has a pretty face / The kind you could find on someone that could save... Well, Jesus Christ I'm alone again / So what did you do those three days you were dead? / Because this problem's gonna last / More than the weekend"

6. "The Dress Looks Nice on You" by Sufjan Stevens

I will dance to this song at my wedding and then make love to it afterwards.

"I can see a lot of life in you / I can see a lot of bright in you / And I think the dress looks nice on you"

5. "Carry Me Home Ohio" by Sun Kil Moon

This song definitely started my love affair with the band. They are a part of my expanding affinity for hippie music. (Also see The RedHouse Painters if you are down with these lyrics/sounds.)

"Green green youth / what about the sweetness we knew / what about what's good and what's true / from those days / can't count to / all the lovers I've burned through / so why do I still burn for you / I can't say."

4. "Gone" by the Bouncing Souls

Funny story about this band. Sometimes, to get the attention of boys, I will lie about music... in that I will tell them I know about a band and like the band. Now, although I might lie, I definitely try to get a sense of the genre of the band on the off chance I have never heard of them so that I don't sound like an idiot/poser. A very cute boy I used to work with always a shirt with a pirate and a Bouncing Souls logo. I thought to myself, "This has to be a band." And, judging by his personality, I was guessing some kind of old school punk. After initiating a conversation and wowing his socks, I had to look them up when I got home. Although I found this band in 2007 and they are currently in my Top 3 favorites, I did not find this song until 2008. Lying sometimes can get you a few dates and an awesome band :D

"It was a darkness all my own / A song played on the radio / It went straight to my heart / I carried it with me until the darkness was gone."

3. "Not the Same" by Ben Folds

What can I say about Ben? He's an entire package. Lyrics, piano, a rockin' good time, sassiness, satire, and genuine connection. I don't know how I didn't know him before 2008, but I'm addicted now. Nothing beat singing along to this song at his concert in November. Thanks Chel!

"You took a trip and climbed a tree... And you were not the same after that"

2. "Quiet as a Mouse" by Margot & The Nuclear So & So's

This band is my new obsession for the year without a doubt. I listened to this album everyday while in Europe - while flying, almost dying, looking at art, and riding the tube. If there is any band you pick up, please pick up this one. They make me feel like I'm going home.

"When I woke I was alive in somebody's room / I felt life and love and hope infested my bones / Wake up you've got a lot of things to do / Wake up the sun is rising without you."

1. "Your Hand in Mine" by Explosions in the Sky

There are no lyrics to share here because this band is purely instrumental. They have been described as using "mini-crescendos" to convey emotion and feeling - every time they do, I get goosebumps. Listening to this song got me through my first semester in Flag. I used it in a movie I made and when falling asleep under the stars next to the Colorado River in the Grand Canyon. Close your eyes and listen.

Honorable Mentions -

"Let it Rock" by Kevin Rudolf

"Erection" by The Faint

"The Bitch Went Nutz" by Ben Folds

"Do You Still Hate Me?" by Jawbreaker

"Welcome Home" by Radical Face

"Lex" by Ratatat

"Bad Things" by Jace Everett (awesome song for an awesome series about Vampires :D)

"Demons" by Guster

"A Cautionary Song" by The Decemberists

"Subject A" by The Killing Moon

Realistic Fear

2008-12-31T03:05:00.004-07:00

I won't take the time to explain why this is so other than I have watched both "30 Days of Night" and "The Strangers" recently, but, I am more realistically - that's right, really for realsies - afraid vampires chasing after me than I am afraid of people who come to my house and try to kill me.

Go figure.

Mormons & Semantics

2008-12-31T03:03:00.006-07:00

A few weeks ago, I was sitting in SUU's food court talking with a few of my favorite people. Of course, the reason they are some of my favorites is because they are geeks who think about language as much as I do. I don't remember the exact flow and meanderings of the conversation, but I said/thought, "Oh. Wow. The Church is actually worried about semantics."

A comforting thought to me personally, indeed.

My mom has been attending church with me recently and as we were sitting through a mundane high councilor speak about flying or something, my mom leaned over and asked, "What do you think of this?"

She held in her had a ward directory and was pointing to the title of the column, which read "Head of House and Spouse."

My immediate response was, "Yeah. That's not the doctrine of the Church." My second reaction was indignation for three reasons.

One. As I recalled at the time, "The Family: A Proclamation to the World" definitely sets forth criteria for equality in marriage - in my mind, this includes labels.

Two. There are many single parent families in the Church where a mother or father may be a head of the house with no spouse.

Three. My brother is listed by himself on that sheet. Who, oh who, would a ward member contact in our house if my brother is neither head of house or spouse? I can already feel the anxious confusion of literal-minded ward member needing to contact someone in our home.

(Here I shall digress for a moment, but hopefully, I will come full circle.) My habit, as much as I hate to admit it, is to let things I get worked up about go without much of a mention. If I'm really upset or annoyed, I try to calm down... and usually by the time I do, I decide not to say anything so that I can spare feelings.

But with my mom by my side and my semester of feminist studies, I decided to say something. (Alas, I did have to say something to an old white guy, but a very kind one at that :D.) I used my sweetest voice possible and mustered as much Christlike love as I possibly could and spoke to a member of the bishopric.

Though I know he didn't really see the problem, he took time to listen. Though the wording of ward lists may not change today, some day it will change as either people grow or members of a certain generation move on to the next adventure (morbid? Yes. But it's true.) I don't know if anything will change, but I felt, for the first time in a while, like an effective member of the Church. Nothing has been accomplished in this particular denomination without asking questions or trying to move forward in understanding - and for that, I am grateful.

Now. My last little semantic thought for the day/ridiculously early morning hour. I re-read "The Family" a few minutes ago and I AM struck by the extraordinarily thoughtful nature of the wording. I don't understand all of the contents and I am learning about others, but much thought was put into this document.

Unlike scripture, women are actively referred to in this text. Every time man is mentioned, so is woman - and this makes my heart happy. The authors specifically state, "...fathers and mothers are obligated to help one another as equal partners."

There it is - equal. I know that not everything can be divided into clear cut groups, but men and women are meant to be equals in life because God's Plan identifies requirements for eternal life as such.

Now. As much as I'd love to say I have no questions about the document, one thing remains and this is where I will leave you, dear reader. When setting forth the criteria for the roles men and women play, the authors state, "By divine design, fathers are to preside over their families in love and righteousness and are responsible to provide the necessities of life and protection for their families. Mothers are primarily responsible for the nurture of their children."

I understand that there are different responsibilities to be had in life and that personalities and genetic hard wiring play a vital role in that (and I am in no way advocating that mothers be "required" to stay home while fathers bring home the bacon - the authors later recommend prayerful consideration of such matters and decisions.)

My question resides in the use of one word - preside. If we are supposed to be equals, what does "preside" mean?

Does it mean that a father needs to understand that the best way for a mother to nurture her children is not to be home all day? Does it mean that mothers are not equal in the presidency of the home? Or, is there something I'm missing?

Nothing Right

2008-12-31T02:44:00.005-07:00

Do you ever have those times when you feel like a complete and utter loss as a human being?

I thought I was done feeling this way in regards to teaching this past semester as I had turned in my grades on December 17th. Oh, nay nay. I checked my e-mail this morning, after a 6 and a 1/2 hour grueling campaign to beat the Germans and Japanese in Call of Duty 4, and found a message from one of my students questioning the grade received.

I immediately had that not so fresh feeling and rifled through my grade book and found I had shorted all of my students 50 points, or 5% of their grades. Luckily, my mistake only changes a few grades, so I can save some face... but not all of it.

This, of course, after I had to admit to 5 students I had lost their papers about a month ago.

What shall I do, you may ask? Well, I shall not worry about it at 3 am and I shall deal with it in the morning, contacting the very same bosses to tell them I've made yet another boo-boo.

Why? Why am I an idiot? And why, for the love of everything good and pure, can I NOT do math?

The Economy Scares the Hell Outta Me

2008-10-26T11:39:00.000-06:00

It's been a couple of weeks since the $700 billion dollar bailout fellow-Americans (I think, but I really don't want to go find the exact date right now.) When I get on MSN.com, which is pretty much everyday, I am chagrined, nervous, and disappointed when I see that the DOW and NASDAQ continue to appear in red numbers - a color that should not be associated with the economy everyday.

The purpose for this post... well, there are many purposes. For me, the economy is like politics is like a bad, awkward date - I close my eyes, continue to not acknowledge it's effects on me, and pray to God someone better will come along and fix it. The economy scares the hell outta me because I don't know anything about it, or how it will effect me. I've been content to not know and have foolishly believed that many people on Wall-Street were working for the greater good. I don't have much money in savings accounts and money market mutual funds, so how could I really be affected? But, there comes a time when a woman must grow some ova and step up to understand her surroundings and how current events are shaping her future. (Grburbank reminded me of this in my comments a few posts back.)

If you want to become more well-versed in the current economic crisis AND know where to put your blame, here are a two links I found very, very helpful:

This American Life's "Another Frightening Show About the Economy"

This episode, about 58 minutes long (just click on the "full-episode" button), succinctly explains who is to blame (both Repbulicans and Democrats and all the people in-between), what these crazy "credit-default swaps" are, and other useful information, like what you can be doing for yourself. Listening to this podcast really, really helped make me aware and more educated - plus, you should just listen to TAL because it's amazing and free.

New York Times "Wall Street Bailout Plan Q and A"

This is a pretty short article, and doesn't have all the snazz that TAL does, but it explains some pretty big concepts.

Now. Can I rant? Yes. Yes I can. Although I still don't understand all the problems in the economy and have surely forgotten some things since I listened to TAL's podcast, I do get some things - like why John McCain and Barack Obama should shut up and stop pointing fingers and provide solutions because BOTH of their parties are to blame. On top of that, we, as contributors to the economy, need to step up and take some blame too. For far too long, Americans have lived on credit, lived beyond their means, - like buying houses that are too big, too expensive, and take up too many natural resources - and gambled with money on what has to be a "sure thing." There ain't no thang as a sure thang and this current crisis is a wake up call to that.

Who else is upset that this bailout is based on our tax money? That's right, the government, who does not get involved with public entities and private corporations, is using our money to save CEO's and fat cats who used too much credit - a basically non-existent form of exchange - to buy more and more and then crashed and burned? I'm pissed. Then to top that off, everyone says it's going to get worse before it gets better and if we, as "the small American", haven't really felt the effects yet, what's going to happen in a few months or years? I really don't want to think about it.

(Other things that bother me right now - why does the government have to buy stocks in companies? Socialism anyone? Why do we only have TWO options for president? Shouldn't we have more, well-backed party supported candidates? Silly anyone? Why do I keep getting fever blisters? Am I that stressed? Bah!)

So, if you've read this far, please take time to educate yourself - the act of doing so is empowering, even though it can feel like a risk. If you're an economist or smart business person or smarter or more educated than I am person who's read this far, please give feedback.

Backstage Passes

2008-10-25T01:28:00.003-06:00

Tonight I went to my first ska concert. Ever. This is weird because I'm quite the concert goin' fool and I've loved ska since high school. Oh, the days when all the kids would dance to "Dopeman" by Less Than Jake seem so long ago.

Anyways, that is not the point of this little post. The point is - I got to be backstage and I've never been backstage before either.

I've always envied those backstage people who are coyly hanging out on the wings of the stage waiting for the band to end. I assumed that those lucky people are kickin' it with the band and having far more romantic and adventurous lives than I will ever lead.

I have to tell you, as I stood on the wings of the stage tonight, half hidden by the lights and and curtains, I felt so freaking cool. That's right. Cool. Perhaps I understand the appeal of being the guard at the panopticon, or perhaps I've just paid my concert dues and made it to where the cool kids hang out, but I'd definitely love to be backstage again... especially at the Bouncing Souls concert I'm going to in a few weeks.

The Mad Caddies surely know how to rock the house and be attractive at the same time. Thanks, Cynthia! for my first ska/backstage experience all in one.

Here's a video from the Mad Caddies if you like ska or just want to know what you've been missing out on; the next video is from my most favorite ska band, The Killing Moon. If you have any suggestions on sweet trumpeting bands I'm missing out on, please let me know!

Breast Cancer Capitolism

2008-10-21T15:11:00.007-06:00

As most of you good citizens know, October is Breast Cancer Awareness month - yes the month of pink ribbons, pink bracelets, and sometimes, pink t-shirts. Now, as a disclaimer for what follows, I in no way mean to disrespect cancer victims, survivors, or research, nor do I mean to implicate my criticisms in conjunction with the loss or heartache someone experiences when they, or a loved one, deals with cancer. However, this month, I am upset, irritated, and tired of seeing pink whenever I walk into Target.

Let me start from the beginning. My family has a long history of cancer. Two of my uncles have died from skin cancer and numerous other family members, including my mom and grandpa, have dealt with benign to malignant types of cancer. Cancer has been a big part of my life, and it is something that I worry about anytime one of us gets a terrible sunburn.

A few weeks ago, an officemate, whom I love and adore, brought a pink Breast Cancer awareness oven timer to work. My other officemate and I remarked on how neat it was, and remembered that it was time to kick off our own cancer awareness. (The oven timer was eventually going to be used in class for timing activities.)

When I went to Target later that same day, I was struck by the vastness of Target's Breast Cancer awareness, even though it was only late September. There were pink brooms and cleaning supplies, pink pots and oven mitts, pink purses, totes, and manicure sets, pink egg beaters, even pink Brita water filters.

This is when my agitation surfaced. Now. I am all for cancer research and raising money, and if this is the only research can get funds, then so be it. But the fine makers of the Brita water filter are most likely not concerned with how many women OR men are helped with their oh-so-altruistic efforts, they are most likely concerned with how many people are paying $24.99 for a Brita water filter... and the profits reaped therein. Are we really to the point in this country that we believe a company marketing a pink broom really cares about research, or do we understand that a company has decided to tap into a very lucrative market?

I am infuriated to think that just because something pink appears on shelves in October we should buy it because we are "socially aware." (I am equally irritated at the marginalization of all things "going green" because it's good business.)

I will conceit, though, that some of these companies must have a good motive because I know there are many, many good people in the world, but when was the last time a ginormous corporation cared about one person, let alone a minority of people suffering from a disease. Doesn't the recent $700 billion dollar bailout speak volumes about the actual concerns of fat cats?

And let me get back to this broom business, because like hell I'm done ranting. A quick search on Target.com for "breast cancer" yielded 115 results. After the fifth page of results, I ran across what I would define as five - 5 - "male gendered" products, including pink gardening shears, a pink tool set, and a Madden Football game with pink packaging compared to the 15 other results per page dealing with womanly products. How does a "Fox Run Breast Cancer Awareness Baking Set" for $14.99 help people become aware of the fact that breast cancer is an unyielding beast?! Why are most of the products geared towards stereotypical, archaic women's roles? Men have mothers, sisters, girlfriends, and women in their lives. Can they not be aware? Why do we even have to have pink as the color? Because only girls like pink? Men can get breast cancer. Should they have to identify with a pink ribbon? On that note, why don't we have a Testicular Cancer awareness month? Cancer is not indicative to the female species. Bah!

What I'm really getting at here is that consumers should not feel morally obligated to buy pink products in October OR feel P.C. because they have done so. If people want to contribute to cancer awareness, why not do so directly on web-sites and bypass companies whose main goal is more money in already bulging pockets?

Are we more worried with having a pink broom so that when neighbors come over they see we are "aware," or are we worried about the disease? (I ask myself this question because I really, really wanted the pink pots.) I think that most of us consumers really want to help with cancer research and this may be the only way we know how; these are just recent thoughts on motives for doing so. If you are the person who purchases pink products because you are a good person and know you ARE helping someone, please continue to do so because the world really needs people like you, especially right now.

Any thoughts on this are more than welcome. I would love some feedback... because, really, I could be wrong.

No Longer on the Cusp of an Anxiety Attack

2008-10-20T21:16:00.000-06:00

I know. Yay me!!! Right? Life is beginning to even out and I know longer have t

he feeling that suddenly life will implode.

Okay. Long time since my last post. But now I know why C.

Joe was flustered for much of the past two years. Grad school is tough. I want to cry a lot. I want my mommy and a blankie and the amount of coke slurpees I ingest on a weekly basis has increased since that fateful day I found the Maverick in West Flag.

Here's a quick update on life, as I'm sure in future posts I'll return to those rants you all know and love so well.

Since being in Flagstaff, I've turned into quite the party trick. And no, not that way. I'm quite the Mormon enigma in the English department. Here's a list of things that have been said to me:

"You're Mormon?! But... you seem so sane."

"You're Mormon?! But you dress normal... and you're cute."

"I knew this Mormon once. Yeah... he/she was awful/terrible/judgmental." (To which I responded, "Yeah. Me too.")

"Are you Irish? Oh no. You can't be Irish. You're Mormon."

"Yeah. One time, on Wikipedia, my brother changed all the L.D.S. entries to read L.S.D." (Admittedly, I chuckled at this one, and then used it to show that Wikipedia is NOT a credible source.)

"So how many sister wives do you have?"

"All Mormons do is spawn, Spawn, SPAWN!" (This last one being said in front of my entire Sex, Politics, and Reproduction class. Everyone, including my professor, started laughing. Then it was pointed out that I was Mormon. It was worse than the time I was asked if Mormons have horns.)

Besides all of these comments, and the others like it, stem from ignorance, they have been opportunities for me to stand up for myself and reaffirm my faith. I've been struggling with my membership in the church for about the past year, and it's nice to finally know that I do believe, otherwise, I wouldn't say anything at all.

I would also like to point out that these thoughtless, unlearned comments are of the minority. Most of my friends, which is why they are labeled thus, are curious and supportive and wonderful. I go out to the bars to socialize and dance, and they buy me drinks in the form of cranberry juice. They understand my informed decisions just like I understand theirs.

So, here's the part where I break the flow and do a quick rapid fire.

I haven't liked living in Flag. I have not liked going to school. I miss home and my family.

I went home this past weekend for the first time in two months. I almost cried when I got to Cedar. Through conversations with wonderful people, I realized that I could either wallow in my pity, or I could do something about it.

I got back to Flag on Monday, which was my 23rd birthday. I felt refreshed and recharged and ready to apply myself with a new fervor. I only have three semesters left after this one, so I might as well make them worth it.

When I went out with some friends Monday night to celebrate my exit from my mother's womb, for the first real time since moving here, I felt loved. There's a lovely group of ladies in my program and we lunch every Friday after class. A few of them came out to dinner and it was great. Since I returned, I realized I have not made a wrong decision. I made a decision that put me in a challenging, new position and I must act and adapt instead of react and whine.

The point is this: we may not be in the best of circumstances, but this is it, so why not smile and decide to be happy?

Anyways. Parting shots:

Listen to Explosions in the Sky. The song "Your Hand in Mine" might just change your life.

Spending a birthday at the Dinosaur Museum in Lehi is a fantastic way to celebrate life.

Being a teacher is the best job EVER! Especially when a student tells you you're kick-ass.

I think I like being Mormon.

Kissing is awesome!

Frisco Street Grill is my new, favorite restaurant. Come visit! I'll take you there.

Raft down the Grand Canyon. It's phenomenal.

Oh, Back to School! Back to School!

2008-08-25T17:13:00.004-06:00

With my first day of school outfit hanging on my closet door and my backpack packed, I was far from springing out of bed this morning. A knot in my stomach grew and grew as I willed myself out of bed to be to my office on time.

I love first days of school. Fall always brings a certain kind of zest and magic into my life that few other seasons do, except for Christmas. Christmas is the bomb dot com. Today was a very different first day of school for me. I don't actually start my student-y classes until tomorrow - Native American Lit - and today, well today was my first day teaching my very own class - ever.

When I got to my office, I got that not so fresh feeling, you know, like the feeling one gets when missing the last step and crashing into the wall at the bottom of the stairs like an idiot. But the thing was, I had everything done. Syllabus, check. Copies of policies and homework, check. Note cards, check. I was all ready, but I was really not ready.

As the first few students trickled into LA 216, they looked more trepidatious than I felt, and after about two and a half long minutes of them staring expectantly at me, I started my first class - and it was amazing!

I don't know how many details I can share without infringing on the law or something, but I really like this whole teaching bit. I think it's really going to work out for me! Woot Woot!

Who's Long Tim?

2008-08-14T22:56:00.003-06:00

Well, I've been gone for a while; it's true, check the dates. The past month or so, I haven't been able to articulate my thoughts on my experiences well enough to merit a post, but I'm feelin' some clarity tonight. First, the Top Ten Things I Did Whilst in Europe:

10. Met Alan Moore

9. Rode the Tube around London

8. Saw Avenue Q - quite literally the funniest musical EVER!

7. Stumbled upon my first Da Vinci painting

6. Got my very own hotel room in Paris three blocks from Notre Dame

5. Tried every new food I possibly could

4. Found out about standardized health care

3. Learned that taking days for myself and sightseeing without anyone else is a great thing to do

2. Went to Evensong at Westminster Abbey

1. I freaking went to Europe, and that is awesome!

Second. I live in Flagstaff now. Crazy, right? Oh, nay nay. Crazy, my friend, is having keys to my office and having a weekly schedule that includes teaching English 1050 Monday through Thursday at 10:20 in Room 216. Crazy is paying $600 dollars a semester for my Master's degree.

The point is, I love being here. I'm totally out of my comfort zone, but I have found my people who do not take the place of my other people, but help me to deal with living in a new state. I'm in the right spot in my life - geographically, chronologically, emotionally, intellectually, and academically - but that's not saying I won't continue to try to improve.

The one thing, dear analytical reader, that is missing from my list is spirituality. This past year has been a difficult for my membership in the church, but I haven't ever doubted that my membership is right and a good thing; I've just had questions, and frankly, I've gotten lazy.

I've come to the realization, once again, that life is totally about balance and I've let certain aspects of my life get out balance, most of which has been my connection with God and spirituality. I was trying to distance myself from the things I don't like about going to church or interacting with members of the church, and I began to turn my back on God.

But, my relationship with God, Jesus Christ, and the Spirit, and my membership in the church has nothing to do with nuisances of church culture or other members. I've learned, through many sources, that I must be Sarah La Rue and that my religious affiliations are through The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, that my intellectual pursuits help me understand the world and humanity better and more compassionately, that I am an English teacher who loves comic books, Batman, and graphic novels, that I am, always have been, and always been an intellectual and a feminist, and that how I must live is through a balanced existence of all that I am.

Irish Hospitals

2008-07-23T09:42:00.004-06:00

Ireland - not entirely sketchy... just the bits in Dublin.

We left to Ireland on Saturday afternoon and flew via Ryanair - a very good, cheap option for flying throughout Europe if you don't mind flight delays on every flight you're on. Anyhoo, since there are lots of people who want to fly cheap, the flights are almost always full. On our flight, I met two very nice English ladies, and one not so nice English lady who didn't cover her mouth when she coughed (I promise this will make sense and tie in.... but I'm kind of hopped up on cold pills...).

Anyways, when we got to Dublin, we took a taxi into town because we didn't really know where our Hostel was located. 27 Euros later we we relieved to find that our Hostel wasn't in the section of Dublin that looked like Compton - instead, we were in the section that looked like regular L.A. The hostel itself though, was very nice. Very attractive Irish blokes at the front - check. 16 bed mixed-sex room - check. Token American girls who made me embarrassed to be American - check.

We walked around the city for about an hour and quickly realized that EVERYBODY bloody smokes there. We even saw 4 12 year-olds craned over a bridge sneaking puffs from a cigarette - gross. Then we went to a traditional Irish pub and I had Shepard's Pie, which was magnificent and got hit on by 3 drunk Irishmen - so neat! Then, to top things off, I saw a crack whore in the bathroom. No. For real. There was a scantly clad woman stuffing small ziploc bags containing white pills into another ziploc bag - sketchy. Then we walked the streets of Dublin and took in the live bands, leprechauns, and more drunk Irishmen.

The next day was wonderful though - we went on a tour to Wicklow, which is in the country. Basically we saw incredible lakes, churches, cemeteries, monasteries, more lakes, and sheep, lots of sheep. While we were hiking around, I noticed a complete lack of energy on my behalf - note the story starting to tie in and the real purpose behind this post :D - and a sore throat coming on.

I am very, very susceptible to strep throat/tonsillitis, hence the woman coughing on the plane would have done well to cover her f****ng mouth. Suffice it to say that by the time we got back at midnight, I could barely speak/breathe. At about 12:30, I had a full-on asthma attack and had to be transported to a hospital in an ambulance - which took longer than a cab to get to our hostel; standardized health care - strike one.

They rushed me right in to see a nurse, but no doctor. My nurse/ the only nurse on staff for the night was a freaking bitch and told me I was having trouble breathing because I forgot my inhaler - yeah. People who forget inhalers regularly throw up when struggling to breathe. She also repeatedly told me to calm down, which I was trying to do, but you know, not breathing for almost a minute is somewhat scary... crazy, right? Anyways, after a breathing treatment, I was told to go wait to see the doctor. It took FIVE FREAKING HOURS!!! Standardized health care - strikes two and three.

When I finally saw a doctor, she basically told the nurse to be nicer to me because I was obviously in respiratory distress and also had tonsillitis. Lame. After another breathing treatment, blood tests, and chest x-rays, I was finally released at about 6:30 in the morning.

There were many more exciting details, but suffice it to say, the last third of my time spent in Ireland was not fun - at all. I've been down and out for the past few days, but am finally feeling a little better today. We're going to Stratford Upon-Avon tomorrow and I'll be seeing Avenue Q tomorrow night, but I missed Stonehenge and am super sad about having to "rest" whilst in Europe. Friday we're headed to Paris and Barcelona, so hopefully this cold won't be any more of a nuisance.

Sorry about the rant/extended blog, but I'm kind of whiny right now. Overall, Ireland = fun; Irish hospitals = shame on you.

2 Days of Update

2008-07-16T12:38:00.002-06:00

These are the e-mails to my parents from the last few days - sorry, I'm just so flippin' worn out!

July 14 -15

Yesterday - I went on walking tour of Shakespeare's London - amazing! We took a boat ride, saw the Globe, saw the place of the original Globe and other neat theatres, learned amazing facts - about roles, box offices, and the word "addiction" - strolled about a quaint street in London, and ate at the oldest pub in London - fish and chips, woot woo! - with some ginger ale. Note: do not go into a bar in London and ask for something non-alcoholic - the people will shame you. We also ate gelatto along the river Thames. Next we toured Westminister Abbey - PHENOMINAL!!!!!!! The energy was so strong from the hundreds of years of people and events. The paintings and architecture were fabulous. I teared up a time or two. Then, we went to a swanky little place and had tea, and I tried duck rolls, yum!, and then went back to the abbey to attend an evening service. It was, again, phenominal. They read from St. James and a choir sang. They sounded like angels and their voices filled the entire abbey. It was so moving. The last bit of the day was spent at the Globe - we saw "A Mid-Summer Night's Dream." We were "groundlings" which consisted of standing and watching the play. The play was the best production of that particular play I've ever seen, hiliarious! and dirty, but I was nearly in tears by the end because my feet hurt soooooooo badly. Yesterday was a really big day.

Today, I slept in because my knee hurt so bad, but I left about noon and walked around. I went down past this church and found a neat little street. We found a market and it's so much better than Wal-Mart. The food is soooo much better here! I can't get over it. It's healthy and filling and full of life and flavors - I will miss it. Plan on getting some chocolate as a souvenir - it's also much better here. Then we went to the National Gallery. I could have spent all day there. It's a free museum and they have hundreds of paintings. Picasso, Renoir, Cezanne, Rembrant, and Da Vinci! I saw my first Da Vinci today and then stayed and just looked for 20 minutes. It was brilliant. I don't think I've ever seen something that I connected with so quickly. This evening, we had tea and treats in a quaint garden cafe before watching "Twelfth Night" in a garden theatre - also great, although I liked last night's production more.

There's so much more, but I have to be up in a few hours. Tomorrow, we're going to the Tower of London, and we're hosting a fancy tea and crumpets party in our bedroom :D

Also, good thing I saved. Everything is freaking expensive here!

July 16

Well, I'm pretty much spent today. We do at least two things everyday, but it's starting to wear on me. I love being out in the city, and I don't want to waste any minute of being here, but it's hard to go go go all the time.
Today we woke up early and went to the Tower of London. It was so neat! There are so many figures in history that have been in that place that I'm really interested in. Sir Walter Raleigh was there for 13 years - I think that may have been the cruelest punishment; the man helped establish the new world for god's sakes - "hey! let's lock him up!" RUDE/very ironic. The towers were amazing and there were so many neat artifacts - carvings on walls from prisoners, an armory, suits of armor, chapels, and one very roomy/generous medieval jock strap that I got a close up picture of :D What was really interesting were the tiny suits of armor made for children - it's sad to think a six year old would have had to don those suits for any reason at all. (Oh, I got you a spoon from the Tower mom :D and, Dad, what the crap do you want? you're a difficult person to shop for - I was thinking a stein from Dublin???)

Anyways, after that we went to another art museum called the Tate Britain. They had a lot of modern art, and it wasn't that exciting - there were a few pieces like Lady Macbeth and Flaming June that were interesting, but I was kind of pooped on art museums. Later, we ate lunch at a nice little Italian restaurant run by actual Italians - one of whom was liking the tall American with pink hair :D - we also had this amazing chocolate cake! I can't get over the food here, and somehow, I'm losing weight - woot!

The last place we went today was the Tate Modern. We weren't expecting much, but it was great. They had Picasso's from all throughout his life and lots of artists I'd never heard of before. The ones I liked the most were the Lichtenstein's and the Warhol's. They both had a very comic booky feel to them, and it's probably what I liked the most about them. What I think is so neat is that all of the art museums are free.... well, they do ask for a donation though. It's nice to be somewhere where art is so privileged that they feel everyone should have access to great works.

Every time we wander into the heart of London, I'm struck by how romantic the city is. People are very willing to show affection here, and it makes me want to have someone's hand to hold, but, c'est la vie! One day I'll come back - start planning for the honeymoon "gift" now... or should I say "donation"?....

Anyhoo, I think I'm going to go wander off to a rose garden before I head to bed! Love you both lots!

Sars

My First Consumption of Alcohol

2008-07-13T14:19:00.002-06:00

I'm too tired to blog a new post, so this is an e-mail I sent to my parents. Don't jugde :D Oh, and I'm not coming home. I like it way too much here!

*****

Today was FANTASTIC! I slept in, went to Oxford street and bought a sweater and Italian ice cream (and I also caved and bought some Tevas because my feet are freaking killing me and we've only been here for three days - hundred dollars well spent). Then we saw the Lion King - phenomenal! I got all vaclemped during the first song - "The Circle of Life" - and the elephant was my favorite animal to appear; it took four people to operate her! After that, my friend Anne and I did a little more shopping and I got a pashmina and am very European now. We then stopped at a delightful little cafe and had dinner al fresco amongst some shubbery (very appealing ;D). Next to us in the window seat was this party of old English people. They were dressed in tweed and ate so properly. It just fit because everything here is just so darn quaint it's adorable! I tried all new things too! First, we started out with a chicken something and foie gras which was surprisingly delectable, then I had lamb! (you were right dad! awesome), and then we shared Tiramisu. Although we had told the waiter we didn't drink, he was a douche let us order the dessert. We ate about half before we realized that European Tiramisu isn't made with espresso, it's made with Mariscapone - hence, my first taste of alcohol. I did NOT like it.

I love it here. I can't believe I'm so lucky to have so much time to spend in such a wonderful city. Everywhere we go is exciting. There are so many different languages being spoken on the same block - it's a wonderful cultural experience. The city is quite clean and there's really no pollution. I love love love riding the tube. I did it all by myself last night, and felt like such a big girl, when I went to see Alan Moore - who is AMAZING! I was really afraid to meet him because he seems very intimidating and, well, crazy psycho-murderer looking, but he was really one of the most genuine and kind authors I've ever met before. Also, last night, my womanly wiles charmed two comic book geeks at the reading and they helped me find the tube (read one was trying to help the other get laid in a geeky, charming, but oh so inept way). OOOOhhh, and I lost my Oyster Card last night at the reading too. I was really upset because they are very expensive, 50 dollars for one week of riding the tube, and I thought it was forever lost after I'd only gotten 2 days use out of it. Well, I checked at the reception desk and someone had turned it in - karma was finally good to me after all the wallets I've turned in.

The people aren't as nice as I expected; everyone is kind of in a hurry and they sure don't mind pushing you out of the way to get what they want, but that doesn't matter - I love it. The city is so dynamic and there's so much history here. I'm trying to soak it all up. I think that this may be the first real thing I've ever done for just myself and I don't think I could have ever picked a better way to spend these three weeks :D Miss you guys (okay... not really) but I do love you!

A Question of Polygamy

2008-06-24T13:20:00.004-06:00

I must apologize if you are not familiar with the L.D.S church and are reading this post. If you would like to know about any of the jargon I use and do not explain, visit www.lds.org. I'm not trying to convert you, merely give you a place that will better explain Mormon vocabulary.

Are you prepared for a lengthy blog containing personal information, religious questions, and lots of talk about polygamy? Really? Okay.

I have questions. Lots of questions. In fact, one of the facets of my personality is my puppy-like curiosity pertaining to all things. Lately, I've had lots of questions about The Church. The Mormon Church. The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. My questions are either stemming from or coinciding with a time in my life where it was been very difficult for me to attend church and church functions. Many of my questions are definitely stemming from my feminism and my intellect. I've reached the point where I know that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ like my feminism, my intellect, and my curiosity - no one will ever convince me of anything different.

That said, knowing that I am loved and appreciated from on high does not answer the questions that I have. Instead, I have more confidence in asking them. Of all my questions, which I will not go into here because this will be long already, I want to know about polygamy (the practice of one spouse having more than one spouse, but for Mormons, the male having multiple wives), and here's what I already know (feel free to correct me if I am wrong, which I might be... because, hey, I'm human - that whole perfection thing that's promised is coming, I'm sure).

Polygamy was a practice used both in the Old and New Testaments, and is still used in some religions in the world today.
Polygamy was practiced in the L.D.S. church from about 1880 to 1910 and was instituted, via revelation from God, by Joseph Smith the Prophet.
Polygamy in the L.D.S. church was a calling. Not every member practiced polygamy.
One of the "reasons" for polygamy is said to be that there were more women than men at the time it was instituted. I have been told, by an Institute teacher, that this is absolutely false and that Church records show that there were actually more men than women at the time.
The practice of polygamy was stopped because it was revealed so, but also because Utah needed to become a state and the government would not allow that event to occur until Mormons no longer practiced polygamy.
The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints no longer practices polygamy.

Now. With all of that, I have many questions, most of which will not ever be answered in this lifetime - shaking fist for eternal perspective. Here are a few of my questions.

If Joseph Smith was in turmoil because of this principle, why was the succeeding prophet, Brigham Young, so eager to practice it?
Will polygamy once again become a practice on this earth for members of The Church? In the millennium maybe?
Will there be polygamy in heaven, specifically, the Celestial Kingdom?
How can people practice this? And I mean ever.
Could I ever practice this?

Okay. So, I'm not going to understand the Joseph vs. Brigham situation. They were people with unique personalities. I've been told that polygamy will never be a commandment on this earth again, but let's face it, a boy goes into the woods to ask a simple question and wabam! you've got the restored gospel.

So, where does my anxiety stem from? And believe me, I've been on the verge of an anxiety attack at the over-pondering of sharing my husband with another woman, even if she was Mary herself. My anxiety stems from having to share what is most sacred and trustworthy with another woman or multiple wives. And it's more than just the union of sex. It's that there are two of us and I want my husband to be for me. I don't want him to romantically love another woman, share his thoughts as he would with me, or be sealed for time and all eternity to two of us when there is one of him. That's it. I don't want to share. Sharing is caring, and in this arena, I am care free. Selfish? Eek. Maybe. Justifiable? I don't think you'll find many people who disagree with me.

Being sealed to both my husband and another one of his wives scares the ever-livin' out of me.

To make this more complicated - what if I die and my husband marries and is sealed to someone else? (In the L.D.S. church, men can be sealed to more than one woman while a woman can only be sealed to one man - a serious question for another blog.) Or, what if he dies first and is sealed to someone else? What then? Am I totally left out of that decision because the flippin' veil is in the friggin' way?

I've seriously wrestled with these questions for years. And my heart has NEVER felt an ounce of peace, even when I pray about it. The "it'll all work out beyond the veil" stock-answer does not suffice for me here and we Mormons avoid talking about polygamy at all costs, except when to make fun of the F.L.D.S. church and the polygamists at Wal-Mart. We talk about polygamy like we talk about the fact that black men could not hold the priesthood until the 70's.

But, I finally have an answer. After years of questioning, I got my answer. Agency. Agency can never be taken away from us, by God or man, unless we give it away ourselves. No matter if it's here or there, we will always have agency - God made sure of it. If I choose not to be in a polygamous marriage, I don't have to be. If my husband doesn't want to be sealed to anyone more than me, he doesn't have to be.

I cannot adequately explain how my soul feels relief at this moment, but I feel a renewed light in myself, a light that hasn't been there for a while and that makes all the difference for me today, and for my years of questioning.

If you would like to read the article I read, here is the link. Pages 151-52 are what I concentrated on.

I hope this helps. I hope it helps me more in the future and with how I am finding my path to heaven.

A Shot to the Heart

2008-06-21T09:42:00.001-06:00

“Mormons should be glad Scientology came along and made them the second weirdest religion.” - Bill Maher

I came across this little gem when reading

Vindicated

2008-06-18T14:36:00.004-06:00

Slip inside the eye of your mind
Don't you know you might find
A better place to play

You said that you've never been
But all the things that you've seen
They slowly fade away

So I'll start a revolution from my bed
cause you said the brains I had went to my head
Step outside, summertime's in bloom
Stand up beside the fireplace
Take that look from off your face
You ain't ever gonna burn my heart out

Please don't put your life in the hands
Of a rock and roll band
You'll throw it all away

I'm gonna start a revolution from my bed
cause you said the brains I had went to my head
Step outside, cause summertime's in bloom
Stand up beside the fireplace
Take that look from off your face
cause you ain't ever gonna burn my heart out

And so, Sally can wait
She knows its too late as she's walking on by
My soul slides away
But don't look back in anger
I heard you say

At least not today.

Thank you - for vindicating me. Or validating me. To myself and to everyone.

For clearing me of guilt and suspect and flaw and responsibility, for letting me be honest. You might think me angry since you rendered me so isolated after I asked you to let me slip away. But, I watch as hope dangles from a string like slow-spinning redemption and I pray for you because you'll never burn my heart out. There is hope and love, even though they are not always visible from the way we choose to see. Step outside, cause summertime's in bloom; stand up beside the fireplace and take that look from off your face. Slight hope may dangle from a string, but hope is there.

I'll love you always, my friend.

Thank you. I now know that I don't have to look back in anger, at least not today.

When Supervising a Class

2008-06-16T12:05:00.004-06:00

I cannot attribute my break in blogging to anything but laziness. It seems that the less I have to do in life, the more I feel the need to be apathetic.

I don't have any pearls of wisdom or comic book rage-engendering experiences to relate, but here are a few things.

I get to meet Alan Moore on July 12th when I'm in London. Hurray!
I really like soccer, coke slurpees, and driving past sage brush in the evening with my car windows down singing just as loud as I can.
Father's Day was good. I love my daddy. And my mommy..... and my brother.
Last week, a conversation went like this.

I was eating mandarin oranges out of a small can.

Enter boss-lady (and not Julie Simon). "Wow. You're going to lose so much weight when you stop working here."

Me: "Excuse me?" (And the kind of excuse me that left me with my mouth agape full of an orange slice and not the ghetto kind.)

Boss-lady, "You eat all the time."

One. No, actually, I don't eat all the time. I snack periodically through the day on pretzels, oranges, apples, and water. Two. Do I have that much weight to lose to constitute a "so" being used as an adjective to my weight? No. I don't. I'm fluffy. See "Kung Fu Panda" and you'll understand why I feel this way. Three. I still don't know why she said that. WTF?

I really liked "Kung Fu Panda." I identified with a lot of the characters, but mostly Po.
Crafty people are neat and I wish I could be one.
I hate my job.
I'm so excited to go to Europe, cut off all of my hair, and move to Flagstaff. I'm trying to find reasons to be excited about life today, but there's a lot of reasons to be excited about life in a few weeks. (I don't think that it will take me long to be excited about everyday :D)
I love these women. I don't always agree with them, but they make me feel better about life and my church membership.
I want to marry a superhero, mostly Batman.
Pushy, authority-seeking people bother me. Why don't they just pee on a fire hydrant? It'd be more effective.
I'm addicted to Lost and I'm not ashamed.
Read Watchmen. You'll understand The Incredibles on a whole new level. It's mind-blowing. Really.
You're a neat person. Thanks for reading my blog.

Pffff.... It's a Comic Book

2008-05-05T17:22:00.006-06:00

Over the past few months, my little brother and I have gotten a lot closer. It could be that we're going to be camp counselors together this weekend and the excitement is acting as a catalyst, or it could be that we've finally realized that the other is more interesting that previously thought, not to say that we haven't loved each other. But this weekend, we really bonded - over books.

As he was helping me move, Jimmy asked if I had any books he would like. I was somewhat shocked that he would ask because although he is beyond highly intelligent, Jimmy has never sought after recreational reading because he has a tough time reading quickly and teachers are constantly pressuring him to get it done faster. After not thinking long at all, I gave him a copy of Watership Down, Fraud, and Blankets. I was most excited to give him Blankets because it's my absolute favorite graphic novel, and he became very excited to read it as I told him about the premise.

To make a long story short, a kid who has been working for almost a year on a 700 page book and only gotten 200 pages in got done with a 580 page graphic novel in less than 24 hours, and he was ecstatic about it. Jimmy decided to use Blankets for his 11th grade Honors English class book report. He worked on an intensive plot summary and even called me to get some feedback about the ending and to ask if I had any other graphic novels he could read. Luckily, C. Joe was on hand and was able to explain the allegory of the cave and some other insightful tips for Jimmy's book report.

When I talked to Jimmy today, after school, he related this story:
So, I handed in my book report to my teacher. She was, like, surprised I gave it to her since I usually don't hand it in 'til close to the last hour on the day of the due date. I made the mistake of showing her the book. She took one look and said, "This is a comic book."

I got really mad and tried to explain to her that comic books are "graphic short stories" and that this really was a novel.

The only reason she didn't argue with me was because we only had to read 100 pages and I read 580.

When he told me this, I was livid! (Yes! I'm using exclamations! And I never use exclamations! or bold and italics together!) First of all, why is an 11th grade HONORS class only expected to read 100 pages for a final book report?! People wonder why students are, oh, what's the word?... oh yes, illiterate when they graduate from high school. Well, it could be that they don't read and that they are handing in plot summaries which are readily available on sites like Sparknotes.

Secondly, why would a teacher's first inclination be to dismiss a student's work instead of understand it? If a student who is usually late with his or her assignments is excited to hand in an early draft of a book report, wouldn't that be cause for investigation and enthusiasm?

And lastly, I told myself to calm down. This teacher, who was once my teacher, may not know and therefore cannot make an educated decision about the teaching of graphic novels. But even though I'm more calm, I am still upset because this instance isn't unique to Jimmy's class or his high school experience - it was a part of mine too.

Jimmy then went on to tell me that he and his friends, who are not fond of reading, were totally engaged in the graphic novel during their next class - where, by the way, they were supposed to be watching a movie/babysitter instead of having a lesson (and! if they don't know how to unlock the visual, then what the hell kind of good is it going to do to show a movie whose only purpose is to fill-in-the-blanks? Bah!). The two other boys and Jimmy read 150 pages in an hour! Amazing! They loved it and one of the boys was especially affected by the subtle hints of child molestation that occurred in a scene.

If kids who don't like reading are engaged in book where their brain is functioning in a visual and a literary way, then why aren't these books being read more often? Why aren't we teaching students skills that will give them tools for life, not just passing tests? How many of these students will have to learn to evaluate propaganda, billboards, commercials, T.V., film, and the like? Ummmm.... pretty much all of them.

Graphic novels are not a cop-out or an alternative. They are valid forms of literature that help readers perceive the visual.

I wish people could open up more to than what they've been taught or what they know and stop trying to be so damn safe. I wish that teachers would try to understand and connect with students and popular culture instead of shunning and handing out labels like "easy" or "not intelligent." I wish teachers could see how visual our world is becoming.

And, instead of wishing things were better, I am meeting with one of the teachers who I had as a student at my old high school on Wednesday because Jimmy informed me there wasn't a single graphic novel to be found in the high school library. Something is going to get done at South Sevier High School and it has to start somewhere.

Top Ten Things to Remember When Attending Punk Concerts in Very Small Venues

2008-04-22T15:54:00.009-06:00

So, it's been a while since I've blogged it up. As such, and because I'm sick of writing about my life, I thought I'd provide some more helpful tips and hints for all of you veteran or aspiring concert goers.

Top Ten Things to Remember When Attending Punk Concerts in Very Small Venues

(*this entry does not aspire to be similar to David Letterman; it, in fact, aspires to be an extra helping of High Fidelity listings)

1. Hearing. There is less space for large sound to exist in small venues. Ear plugs - although one may be labeled a pansy before the concert begins and less than "fashion friendly" - are smart as all get out... unless you enjoy excessive ringing in the ear's for more than 24 hours.

2. Being Stoned. If you like to smoke a little reefer, you're an idiot, but don't let that get you down. Smoke it on up. However, getting so tweaked that you wave your hands about your head and repeatedly smack other people in the face because of your utter incoherence is never a good idea because a) people don't care that you're a girl - they'll hit you anyways; b) someone's definitely going to end up taking advantage of you; and c) you might end up like this.

3. Clothing. Being the person to finally construct a shirt out of a chamois is not only a way to stave off embarrassing sweat stains, but also an ingenious way to make some extra money. I'd buy one online. Really. PayPal's awesome.

4. Paying Attention. Not paying attention is a great way to get a hold of some type of band memorabilia. For instance, I was messing around with my camera and got hit in the face with a drumstick. Having catlike reflexes and an iron-clad grip is also helpful for this category.

5. Camera. Readers might remember a previous post where I stated that I liked to keep my camera on my person at all times during some concerts. This is true. The advice I have to give now is that you probably should purchase some sort of camera case if you are not fortunate enough to develop the aforementioned chamois shirt because cameras may experience water damage.... which is actually swoobie damage. What? I'm just saying...

6. Crowd Placement. In a small venue, the crowd can still seem big and therefore surge and crush and pulsate. Perchance, if you find yourself smashed up, bosom, sweaty camera, and all, against a person whom you vaguely know from a class a few semesters ago, but only really through blogger, then just go with it. You are probably very close to the stage. It's all about the closeness at concerts.

7. Other People's Sweat. You'll wear it. Deal with it.

8. Invitees. If you happen to ask someone to go to a moshy-type concert with you last minute, and they've never actually heard of the band or been to a moshy-type concert, for the love of God, warn them about what will happen, what to wear, etc., especially if this person is homosexual because they might end up being the only gay man in a crowd of 400. (Thanks for being a good sport buddy!)

9. Questions. Questioning is always good. Questions in concert settings like, "When the hell are the Bouncing Souls coming on?!" or "Hey. Can you not put your hand there?" are great. Some questions are not good to ask in certain settings when you're surrounded by die hard fans of a 20 year old band, i.e., "Wait. Is it Bouncing Soul or Soulzzzz?" are just not smart things to say. Be a good little patron and hold your questions 'til the end.

10. Hair. If you're a girl with hair past mid-neck and fitting said hair into one, two, or three pony-tail holders is at all is possible, the pull your f***ing hair up. You make me want to rip it out. No one likes sweaty, stringy hair stuck to them in the pit.

Now, go out and enjoy some concerts.

Also, sorry about all of the hyperlinks. I just learned how to do it today. It's amazing!

Here's a link to a neat new artist. I've heard his name dropped twice in the past week.

I like this too.

And this.

Hoookay. Bye!

A Random Spattering of Thought due to High Engery and Mountain Dew via My Work Computer

2008-04-03T17:06:00.003-06:00

The past few days have been surreal and happy. Surreal in the way that I'd forgotten what it's like to have multiple, life changing incidents occur all at the same time and have all of the aforementioned incidents be positive. Happy in the way that people tell me I'm glowing again and I feel like it. I woke up with a smile on my face this morning and it was a good moment.

Shall I expound? Yes. Yes I shall.

Yesterday, I was informed by a professor at NAU that I got a Graduate Assistantship. This basically means that I will save $12,000 a year in tuition and fees, I get paid to go to school, I get to teach a section of 1050 (1010 elsewhere) with my very own syllabus, books, and assignments, and, get ready for this, I get to have office hours. I'm going to have office hours. I'm 22 and I have office hours. That means, in deconstructionist terms, that I am going to have an office. How cool is that?

A certain C. Joe Willis wanted to make sure of the details of my GA position with the lady over them (...us?....weird) at NAU. He told her my name and she said (via Joe), "Oh. Sarah? She had that position within ten minutes of the start of the meeting. We don't not hire people like that." I was floored. After three rejections (grad school, not otherwise - that's a higher number), it's really, really nice to be wanted. I thought on the dates of my acceptance letter as well. NAU got my application on the 6th, 7th, or 8th. My acceptance letter was dated the 25th. I felt special.

Next Sarah-happy-making event. I bought my ticket to London today. I will be in Europe from July 10 to the 29th. I even got a deal: $967.60. Although, this does mean I will be on a place for something like 16 hours. But still, London is London.

Last happy-making-event for this blog, for there will surely be more to come later today. My dad wants to help me buy a condo for when I live in Flagstaff so that I can basically live rent free and establish mortgage credit. I really hope it works out because I've been searching Realtor.com, but even if it doesn't, it'll be okay. It'll be okay because I have parents who are willing to help me with something like this. It'll be okay because I know that I have people who love me and support me in any way they can. I can't believe I am so lucky.

I suppose in some way, all these event should make me feel older and more mature. They don't. True, they make me very happy, but I feel like a little kid playing dress up in a grown up's life. I know that I will be able to handle teaching and syllabizing and grading and grad-studenting, but, I feel very young. I don't know why.

All of this got me thinking. I realized how cantankerous (such a great word) I've been over the past four months. I fully feel that my stress was legitimate, but the purpose is not to just endure, but to endure it well. I feel badly that I may have been as horrible as I think I've been lately - or for months. I see an area I need to grow in my life, so I am glad of the time to self-reflect. For those of you who have supported me, loved me, and put up with me, thank you. Really. Thank you.

Life is cyclical and a balancing act, but for now, I shall bask the euphoria that comes with the blessings that are specifically designed for us and our experience here.

I'd Rather be Dead in California Than Alive in Arizona

2008-04-01T23:54:00.007-06:00

I got accepted to grad school today. I'm going to be a graduate student! I'm getting a Master's degree! Grad school! New books, new people, new teachers, new chapter in my life!

Awwwwwwwwwoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

After three rejection letters - Mizzou, Washington State, U of Utah - I got my first acceptance letter today. I still need to hear from one more school, but, as of August 2008 I will be living in Flagstaff, Arizona attending Northern Arizona University getting my Master's Degree in Literature.

Words cannot explain how happy and relieved and thankful I am to have to have security for the next two years of my life.

No, this is not an April Fool's joke. I'm really going to grad school.

The feeling is very surreal right now, even though I have access to the web site and can look at Fall 2008 classes; I really feel like someone is playing a joke on me. (I will stuck otter pops up their butts if they are *insert shaking fist*.)

The best part of today, besides getting accepted to grad school, a celebratory coke slurpee, or the hiding of my phone in the ceiling much like The Office, was telling my dad. He got emotional as he told me he was glad I wasn't going too far away.

It's nice to be loved so much.

Farewell, adios, and, as always, spooning leads to forking.

More Than Words

2008-03-15T11:03:00.003-06:00

Many of you who know me know that I place much value in the visual aspect of our world. I just took part in presenting a panel with two friends about the importance of graphic novels, I am working with a professor on campus to establish a visual literacy program, and I hope to get a Master's degree with an emphasis in visual narratives.

The visual makes up much of our lives and our experience here.

As such, I feel that I have stumbled upon the crystallization of why I will never work in the food service industry again. Watch it all; I promise, it's worth the wait.

An Update... Kind Of

2008-03-13T18:38:00.006-06:00

So, I wouldn't say this is the finished product, but this is the piece I presented at Sigma Tau Delta's National Convention in Louisville last week. I was privileged to be on a panel of amazing women who wrote incredible papers about their experience in life sans Y chromosome. The panel was a Creative Non-Fiction panel; I submitted this paper as CNF mostly because I don't think I was ready to admit that everything about it was true. But, it is true.

I Wasn’t A Feminist Until I Found Four-Inch Red Stilettos

A Wilder Side

When I was little girl, I had a pair of shoes that my parents and I affectionately referred to as my “wild shoes.” They were a type of Keds that were multi-colored, flowery, and bold. I felt invincible in my wild shoes. No puddle was too wide or muddy, nor was any rollie-pollie bug or spider safe from the crushing power of my small feet or my wild shoes. When my tiny toes started to press against the edge of my beloved shoes, I was reluctant to get another pair. Soon, I began walking like an arthritic, three-legged dog and new shoes were a must. I traded in my wild shoes for a pair of shiny, white, bland, popular Keds.

I Had Feet in Those Shoes

Whenever I think of reading as a child, I always picture a quaint scene in Barnes & Noble on a snowy day. A young, buff and surprisingly afro-ed version of my father walks up to the long haired, stick version of my mother. He says in his authoritative cop-tone, “Hey honey. When did you start reading children’s books?” A playful smile curls into his lips and somewhere beneath his busy mustache, his dimples indent slightly. As the snow continues to fall and create perfect, picturesque fog circles on the windows, my mother says, “You’ve got your head on your shoulders and your feet in your shoes…” She turns to him and quickly retorts, “Oh, I just wanted pick out your Christmas present early this year.” My mother, always sure to make a point, sets down the book she was reading to me and goes on to say why she’s perusing the kids’ books: she wants to make sure that I, her three-year old blonde and bashful pride and joy, have positive female role models to read about – she’ll have none of that manipulative-bitch-like behavior that is seen in sordid characters like that damn Tinkerbelle. My father shakes his head and walks back to the magazine section of Barnes and Noble where those people hang out and waits expectantly until he’s needed. The facts: Barnes & Noble couldn’t have been found in a hundred mile radius of where I lived in 1988; I grew up in Southern California and it snowed only once when I was six; my dad still may never have set foot in a bookstore in his adult life; and, my mother, well, the part about my mother is true. I grew up with positive, non-manipulative, non-bitchy, but vocal nonetheless, female role models.

Whose Shoes?

Basketball shoes remind me of sixth grade. I’ve been six feet tall since then. When shopping for basketball shoes, I had to buy boys’ shoes because the small-town shoe store we went to didn’t have any girls’ shoes big enough for me. Word got around in rural school about the six foot, boy-shoe wearin’ girl, and so began the three basic assumptions about me: one, I was the fat kid that weighed like a thousand pounds – how do those chairs hold her up again?; two, I was tall ergo I was good at basketball and volleyball and basically any other sport that required me to be athletic and my usefulness ended there; and three was that I did not like boys – at all. The facts: I weighed close to 140 pounds and was basically all muscle; I was a force to be reckoned with when playing basketball, but the mop the janitors used to clean with would have volleyed a ball better; and, I was so much in need of boys’ attention that I stunted my own dating growth well into my sophomore year of college. In my adolescence, I was not the girly-girl, the pretty girl, or the girl who got asked out; I was the move-in-from-Southern-California-where-surely-there-must-be-

something-wrong-with-the-water-girl that was completely mislabeled. I just wasn’t “normal.” Oh, I also wasn’t blonde anymore.

Ready, Fire, Aim

When I think about Tyson Brown, I see a grassy middle school football field on a rare sunny day in April. Eighth graders are abundant and ready to leave the dregs of society behind for something much cooler: high school. There are about ten of us and the boy that I loathe is in attendance. Intellectual exchanges are obviously important in middle school, so we begin to discuss the meaning in a name. For instance, Jordon – who is my beautiful, tiny, flirtatious best friend – her name means, “Hot,” because, well, all the boys think she’s sooo sexy. We go around the circle, expertly classifying each others’ names and the boy whom I’m not fond of, the one I mentioned before, he gets his profound observation ready for the kill. There is no mistaking the look in his eyes for anything but pleasure as he pronounces, “Sarah is a Fat-Ass name.” The usual awkward chuckles ensue, and cumbersome looks are cast in my general direction. I don’t even have to look up from my three-stripe Adidas soccer shoes before I whip out the secret, end-all-be-all trump card: “Yeah? Well, Tyson is a Limp Dick name.” Laughs are beyond being stifled because I have just handed out the biggest slam of any middle school career. Chubby/Tall girls are redeemed forever, and stupid boys will think twice before they cross a girl that can think. The facts: my mom told me to say that.

I Can’t Feel My Toes…

There was a time in my life when I would wear nothing but flip-flops. They, at the most, caused a half-inch change in stature. I wore flip-flops in the winter, and even when my toes would turn blue, I wore the flops. I wore drab colors and I didn’t know how to dress my awkward body. Girl’s clothes didn’t fit because I was too tall and I had started to mature, which meant I was getting stretch marks and cellulite in awkward places, like my arms and breasts. Wearing boy’s pants gave me an inner-tube that Goodyear would have been proud to support and a figure reminiscent of the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man. I didn’t want to stand out so I walked with my hair in my eyes and my head down. The facts: I was popular by association; I incurred a devastating knee-injury that put me out of sports for the rest of my life during my freshman year and consequently gained 50 pounds due to inactivity; halfway through my first date ever, I was lied to, ditched, and left at a friend’s house to be the third-wheel wondering what I had done wrong; and, I was pity-dated to my Junior Prom and I couldn’t even find a dress to fit that I liked because I was too big.

Hitting the Road

There is a clear picture of black Vans shoes stomping down onto the black pavement in the visual narrative that exists in my mind. The shoes have a white stripe on either side of the foot. One shoe has a bright red shoelace, the other, a white lace. The text that accompanies the image reads, “The shoe sounded down onto the pavement catching her averted attention. He knew she hadn’t noticed him until then, walking down the sidewalk, but he knew he had to have her attention, even if for a moment; he needed her to know that he existed. She was startled and looked up, surprised that someone would interrupt her thoughts as the grim scene from the night before controlled her contemplative state. His grin was from ear to ear and in that moment, she knew he was something.” The facts: seeing those Vans with a red lace changed my life. I hadn’t noticed the shy boy that sat in the back of two of my classes until that day. It wasn’t long until we were together, and I grew to love him more than any other. I’d never felt close to someone, never felt like someone truly saw me despite my faults. A significant other hadn’t really loved me until then. But with all love comes the trial – and we were put in front of a grand jury. I was forced to realize that with the revealing of all the truth comes the unveiling of all the lies. I committed to a love that almost destroyed me; I almost lost myself in the act of trying to recover what was never really there. Because of that relationship I learned more about myself, humanity, love, and God than any other singular experience had ever taught me.

The Great Enlightenment

When I reflect on how I came to the realization that I’ve always been a Feminist, I picture a rainy afternoon during my senior year of college. I walk into a store where I insist on finding a good deal and therefore can justify picking out an outfit that will make me feel better about myself, life, and, basically, civilization in general. I peruse the racks looking for ways to spend money that I don’t have when I suddenly find myself staring at my very own altar to the gods – a shelf full of shiny, shiny pointy-toed stilettos. Now, ladies with skis for feet can understand – Size 11 does NOT exist to the fine shoemakers of the world. A pair of shoes that gargantuan is not only offensive to the fashion world and to women, but is probably abhorrent to humanity as a whole. Therefore, to find a pair of Size 11’s to strap on that one loves is cause for choruses of Hallelujah to ring through the halls. Hallelujah’s are blaring through the halls, perfectly timed glittering flakes have been released for a dramatic and celestial effect, and a spotlight from above shines down like a beacon of righteousness onto a pair of Size 11 shiny, pointy-toed red stilettos – my pair of Size 11 pointy-toed red stilettos. The facts: this passage is completely, 100%, swear on the Bible, The Virgin, and, even though he’s still alive, my father’s grave, accurate.

Sunny Day Sweeping the Clouds Away

When I picture my life as of now, I’m usually sitting in front of a computer. This is only because it’s my last semester of classes and I’m somewhat of a procrastinator. On late nights, my novelty Elmo slippers keep my feet warm because I’m too poor to turn up the heater past 70. Paper after paper weighs on my mind and I can’t wait to be done with my undergraduate degree because I can’t bear the thought of having to teach one more day of high school. The facts: I’m not giving up on teaching – quite the contrary, I’m applying to grad school so that I can teach what I want to teach where I want to teach it; tomorrow night I’m auditioning to be in the Vagina Monologues for a second time and I desperately want to be the “Angry Vagina”; I’m a six foot tall woman that on occasion becomes 6’4”, and I plan on spending the rest of my life finding ways to make choruses of Hallelujah materialize as if from nowhere.

A Bit Too Chilling

2008-02-14T23:22:00.005-07:00

My heart goes out to the people effected by the shooting in Illinois today. The fact that people are sometimes very senseless and selfish still astounds me. A part of me hurts that to hear about shootings on the news every six months is almost commonplace; schools and universities have evacuation plans in for shooters - it doesn't feel like people should have to live or prepare like that.

The reoccurring nature of shootings got me thinking. I blog about music, and music listeners leave me comments. I write about poetry, and other poets read my writing.

I googled "how to be a columbine shooter" tonight. The fifth, 5th, hit on the first, 1st, page was called "Super Columbine Massacre RPG!" (Take special care to notice the exclamation point.) Curiosity got the best of me and I clicked the link. The page contains normal data links for downloads and directions for players of the "game." What is most chilling is the game description: "This game delves into the morning of April 20th, 1999 and asks players to relive that day through the eyes of Eric Harris and Dylan Kleblod, those responsible for the deadliest school shooting in American history."

How humanity can come to this is beyond my comprehension. The producer of this savage site is obviously intelligent. Only someone truly atrocious and intelligent could matter of factly state that he or she wants users to "delve" into the eyes of monsters. The unremorseful nature of the description, although sickening, makes the nature of these copy-cat shooters more clear - but never acceptable.

I was raised to respect guns because I was also taught to respect the sanctity of life. I understood that guns were not bad, that guns were a good thing in the right hands. They were for protection and for the hunting of food. I still feel that way. I knew what guns were capable of because my mother and father took the time to teach me. I knew this mostly because I grew up in a family of police officers. My dad was a cop, my uncles were cops, and my cousins are cops. Had I not injured my knee, the police force would have been a heavyweight fighter in my career choices.

When I was fifteen, I learned that my father had killed a man in the line of duty while the man was holding an apartment complex hostage. In doing so, my father saved the life of another officer. I am, always have been and and always will be proud of my father for this. Taking such action takes courage. My father knows he did the right thing, so do I. But, my father made sure to teach me that people deserve to live, and that life is precious.

Events like today do not want to make me ban guns. Events such as today make me want to help legislate access to guns and who gets them. I do not have a gun right now, but that's because of where I live. I will have a gun in my home though. I am not afraid of them. I am afraid of what would happen if someone tried to take my life, or the lives of those I love, and I was not properly equipped. People in Australia learned what would happen; when the right to bear arms is removed and people are forced to turn over their guns only one thing happens - the good, law abiding citizens turn over their arms and the bad people keep theirs.

Stupid, angry people make stupid, angry decisions with guns, true, but they would have made a stupid, angry decision no matter the access to materials.

I pray for humanity tonight. I pray that those who suffer, not just in Illinois, might be comforted. I pray that people will be smart and aware of the inherent value of life.

Find a Happy Place

2008-02-03T22:43:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, being happy is a battle for me. I imagine myself as a stanch fighter in some kind of war, like the war at the beginning of "The Lord of the Rings" movie, fighting against the powers that would make me unhappy, because the key to happiness lies just on the other side of the opposing army. A weird picture to be sure, but that's what happens when you're a dork with an overactive, visual imagination.

Last February 14th, I was realized I had depression. Two days later, I was diagnosed with severe depression and severe anxiety. Writing, or saying, this on paper or out loud is not difficult when I share my experience with a trusted few. I knew that I would inevitably share this particular trial with many. And for some reason, I feel the need to share tonight.

The two months prior to that fateful day, and the three months after, were the hardest in my life. I have never known despair to that extent. I felt hopeless, helpless, miserable, and empty. I had nothing to give; I could only take.

But, and this is a big but, because I knew sadness to that depth, I knew that I could also experience happiness to that degree, and more.

There is a stigma in many cultures, particularly in the Utah culture, that the word depression is a synonym for crazy. I think this is why I don't share my experience with many. I am not ashamed of myself, but leaving the sacred parts of my life open to the judgements and sneers of those who choose not to understand is difficult.

I heard once that we should not share sacred experiences with many, because they lose their sanctity, much like I shouldn't tell someone I'm in love with them when I really am unsure of my feelings. And although my trial with depression is sacred, I refuse to let an unhappy memory have power of my life. Instead, I choose to let it be a secure foothold in my life. A place where I know I have strength, courage, and experience so that it cannot be an unhappy memory anymore. Depression has been replaced with wisdom and love.

There are many things that help me now. I don't feel the need to share them. I just want to illustrate that sometimes my happiness is a choice and a battle. Today was a difficult day to keep fighting though.

The past few days have been really tough. I missed an extremely important grad school deadline and almost forgot another. I still have no idea what to do with my life after August, I feel like I'm in limbo, I feel like I can't do anything right, that people have no faith in me, and that if they do have faith in me that it's a wasted effort, and that all things that I have been trying to do "better" lately have been for naught. I feel depressed.

Maybe it's the time of year or the fact that the sun hasn't been out in a really long time, maybe I'm fighting what I'm supposed to really be doing instead of what God needs me to be doing, maybe I don't know what I really want. Maybe it's P.M.S.

I don't know.

What I do know is that writing about this helps me. Sharing my experience does too. Maybe that's all I need to know right now.

La Vida Buena Está Aquí

2007-12-24T21:01:00.000-07:00

I had previously thought that I'd try to blog about my days in Mexico at the end of everyday in Mexico. So much for promises to myself that I never intended to keep.

I find that even though I left three and a half days ago that I'm still having a hard time crystallizing my thoughts about my experience there. I love it in Mexico; it is forever a part of me now and I know that I will go back. Maybe more than the country is the experience. Our group had shirts that read, "Solamenete una vida que se vive para otros es una vida que vale la pena." Only a life lived for others is a life worth living.

I didn't agree with that statement upon first glance, but upon further introspection, I just didn't understand it. I didn't know what it could be like to worry and work for others. To not worry about how I would get my food, but how another family would get theirs became my focal point. To not worry about my toys or my sidewalks or my playtime or my enjoyment, but somebody else's... I never lived that 24 hours a day. I want it back.

Christmas is a little less magical for me right now. I'm a little more observant, pensive, and grateful. And at the same time, I worry about how much money was spent on me when such money could be spent on the people and orphans in Mexico. Every dollar to me is ten pesos that could have gone to them.

There are so many things in my heart that I cannot write, and should not because they've become sacred. But I will share this.

On our last day in Mexico, we went to the market and the beach. I was bitching from the beginning of the day. There were still things to be done and kits to be handed out. I hated the market. I hated buying things for myself and my family, and I hated the souvenirs. I left as soon as I'd dropped sixty bucks. A friend and I wandered the streets for the remaining two hours, trying to desperately capture the last minutes we had in this different culture.

When we went to the beach later that day, I thought about the day before, when we'd gone shopping for a lady that lived in a 10 by 8 foot shack with walls of cardboard and tin and a leaky tin roof. All of her possessions had been stolen and she and her husband and 4 children lived in this "home." The only food they had were about 8 oranges. Everyone in our van donated at least 20 dollars and we spent almost 200 at the store buying food, blankets, diapers, clothes, and cots, because they'd been sleeping on box springs. Shopping that day was just.... better.

As I stood in the surf and watched the sun go down, I knew that I had been so annoyed earlier at the market because I was buying things for people who didn't really need them. I spent money on myself, instead of those who truly needed it.

When I related this experience to my dad, I cried - a lot. I didn't cry at all in Guaymas, but coming home reminded me of what I missed there. He told me about a time when he was in San Carlos, a town not far from Guaymas. He met an old fisherman and my dad asked if he'd ever dreampt about going to the U.S. for something more. The old man smiled and shook his head. He said that he'd been here, and he'd met our people. And then he said, "La vida buena está aquí." The good life is here.

I was blessed in Mexico with a glimpse - a glimpse at what life should really be like. I don't know how I'll go back to everything in Cedar that awaits me. I don't want to.

I found a new fulfillment in Mexico. I may have even found God again in Mexico. Mexico is the best Christmas present I've ever been given, and I hope that I change because of it.

Hasta Nunca: Mexico Part Dos

2007-12-17T21:52:00.002-07:00

So, second post for the day. Although I had to finish up work this morning and was unable to follow the schedule everyone else was on, today was a great day. Definitely better than yesterday – but not in a bad way. During the daytime, we “work” for eight hours in various places. We can choose from a soup kitchen called Chewy’s, an orphanage, an elementary school, or water collection for scientific testing (which really means we go to areas outside of Guaymas and check water for bacteria and Ecoli). Since I didn’t go anywhere this morning, my choice was made for me in the afternoon – the orphanage.

The orphanage is just outside the city limits of Guaymas near a harbor, but it’s not the picturesque beach in Mexico – it smells real bad. The orphanage is run by Catholic nuns and actually is quite quaint. The kids have a nice little courtyard and a playground, and everything is really really clean considering their surroundings.

We do different things there. Breaking into little groups, I headed for the playground. Today’s project was digging a better hole for the new trampoline we were going to assemble. The hole needed to be quite large and they didn’t have wheelbarrows, so we had to shovel dirt into ten gallon buckets and haul it to the edge of the playground, bucket by bucket. The children were so willing to help. They shoveled dirt and generally kept us entertained. There was definite excitement in the air as the other groups finished and came to watch us put together the trampoline. We had to keep grabbing kids off of the frame because they were trying to get on before we were done. If any of you have put together a trampoline before, you know it’s tough business. Lots of pulling and stretching.

The tension finally reached the ultimate threshold as the last spring was connected and the kids cheered and scrambled on. I have never seen kids that happy before. They laughed and bounced and it was just so wonderful.

I’d like to think I’m making a difference by being here. Maybe I’m not to them. They probably won’t even remember me. But they are making a difference to me and I’ll always remember them.

The good thing about a group our size, about 50, is that there was basically one kid to every American. Mine is name Aleah. She’s seis and so full of life. She was hanging onto someone else while I was digging, but as I clambered out of the hole in my pink hiking skirt, she had her hands stretched out for me. She held onto my neck and nuzzled me. It was really hard to hold her when she was trying to escape to the unfinished trampoline, but as soon as we had it in the ground, she was on it. She kept coming back to me, wanting me to bounce with her. I don’t think the leaders really wanted us on the trampoline with the kids, but we’ve established that I don’t really have an affinity for listening to them. Three of us big kids got on with the ninos and had a blast. Aleah’s laugh was intoxicating. I don’t know the last time I’ve had that much fun. Playing with the kids, shoveling the dirt, avoiding the frogs – none of it felt like work. Everything we do is for someone else. I’ve never lived my life like that. A life like that is just….better.

We bounced for a good half hour before we had to leave. We said hasta luego y adios y hasta manana. We will really be back tomorrow, but it kind of felt like a lie because we won’t be able to come back in a few days. Even one of the girls retorted Hasta Nunca! And I know that she meant it.

While we’re here, I’m going to make the most of it though.

We went to the beach after the orphanage, which was great, but I’d have rather been at the orphanage. I can’t wait to go back tomorrow and see the kids again. They are such wonderful little people and even though they’re orphans, I really think they’re some of the happiest kids I’ve ever met.

This will keep me safe from the hot, Mexican sun.

2007-12-17T10:34:00.000-07:00

Okay. Today isn't necessarily my first day in Mexico, but it's the day I'm writing about my first day here. Yesterday was amazing, but definitely not what I expected. I know that I came down here to do service, but I think I was too busy this semester to process what coming here would exactly entail. Oh. And would just like to mention/gloat that I'm sitting in the shade because sitting directly in the sun is a little too warm.

To start off the day, we went to church. I will avoid venting about how the leaders only knew where an L.D.S. church was or that even though I thousands of miles away from Utah, that it was still somewhat of a social obligation to attend church. I am glad, however, that I went. I do love going to church - anywhere - but here, it is much different. There were only about fifteen members and the Bishop was the only person on the stand. When our entire group walked in, we quadrupled the size of the congregation. What was the most neat part of sacrament, aside from obviously being in Spanish, is that these people have a completely different kind of testimony than what I usually see and hear. They are humble and they sacrifice greatly to be members. Everyone works here, and to attend church, these people probably miss out on money for their living, but they come anyway. Their love for the gospel is so simple, but so strong and real. The Spirit is able to transcend language barriers and testify of their love, the love of God, and the abundance of truth. I will take church in Mexico any day. (The only "weird" part about church is when two completely separate groups of students from SUU came to church - apparently they're here job-shadowing in the medical fields. We were all quite surprised to see each other.)

I checked out of church after sacrament because I actually have to work while I'm here (not something I like to do even when I'm in the U.S.). So I headed back and was promptly asked to help the leaders. Another member of the group and I wen to "Ley" - the Mexican, more crowded and disorganized version of a ghetto Wal-Mart - to buy milk, ice, and cream cheese. This was quite the experience. Ley is located in a mall-type situation. People are absolutely everywhere. Everyone here is always waiting. (I'll take pictures to prove this, but I left my cord at home.) Around the actual store are all these little vendors selling food and clothes. I will pause this narrative to say that I had the most amazing carne asada tacos for 17 pesos (roughly $1.70) at the store. I love Mexican food -REAL Mexican food.

Anyhoo, Ley was so lively. There were Flamenco dancers right outside the store and people were yelling in to microphones about pollo, carne, jamon, frioles, y marisocles, but other than that, it was another Wal-Mart. When we finally checked out, a boy about seven bagged our groceries. The other group member and I asked the check out lady and she said that he doesn't actually get paid - he only gets tips from people as he bags their groceries. My heart broke a little. This little boy should have been out playing soccer with his friends, but he was bagging groceries, working, like he'll be working for the rest of his life.

Lunch. Lunch was lame. I did not come to Mexico to eat Doritos, snack-packs, and chicken salad sandwiches. I'm going to a vendor for lunch today.

The highlight of the day was when brought hygiene kits to an impoverished neighborhood in Inpendencia. Most of the houses were made from scrap wood, cardboard, and one was even made from the bottoms and tops of barrels. The kits had blankets, food, soap, towels, toothbrushes, and the like in them. One of the families we brought it to was being raised by an 11 girl. She had a 7 year-old brother, a 3 year-old sister, and another infant sister. We couldn't really figure out if there actually was a mother present or just working, but the little girl raises this family. Another family was comprised of two 15 year-old parents and a 3 month old baby.

As we were taking the kits around, families, mostly kids were flocking to us because we were handing out necessities and some toys. The problem is that we only had a limited supply of things, and we'd promised goods to families already. Leaving the kids behind who weren't quick enough to get a toy was heart-breaking. I started taking food out of our treat bags and handing that out. I was told not to by a leader because "that was all we had for the trip home." Really? That's all we have for the trip home? Good thing I brought my debit card. I started steathily handing out treats at a faster rate after that.

The best part about this highlight was when we played soccer with the neighborhood kids for an hour or so. These kids are amazing, probably because it's all they do all day, but they kicked our trash! It was the Americans versus the Mexican ninos and it was so much fun! Playing games with them better than handing out food. It was much more memorable.

What little Spanish I do know is very handy. I find that I know more than I thought I did and that communicating with the people is wonderful. I thought they would be sad - missing out on iPods, clean food, clean streets, and the like, but they are so happy and so patient with me and my crappy Spanish. Especially the kids. When we were playing soccer, Luis, a little boy I snuck some ChexMix to, handed me a tiny package of candy. He told me it was for me for being there. I don't think I'm going to eat the candy. When it came time to leave, they asked if we were going to come back as we were leaving yesterday. I don't think that any of us had the heart to tell them no.

We had to leave shortly before dark. That's what the Police Officers told us. They were with our group for our protection, but I never really felt unsafe. That is until we heard two gunshots from the street last night. I do love Mexico though!

We did lots more yesterday, but I don't want to keep writing and missing out on experiences. Hasta luego!

Finalmente!

2007-12-13T16:01:00.000-07:00

I'm done. I done? I'm done! I'm done! I'm done! I'm done! I'm done! I'm done! I'm done! I'm done! I am done! I'm done! I'm done! I'm done! I'm done! I'm done! I'm done! I'm done! I'm done! I'm done! I'm done! I'm done! I'm done! I'm done! I'm done! I'm done! I'm done! I'm done!I'm done! I AM DONE.

I am the official holder of a Bachelor of Arts degree in English. I have worked for four and a half years. I turned in my last undergrad paper today (on why Wonder Woman should NOT be a feminist icon) and I am done. Graduated. Finished. Accomplished. Done.

I even bought myself a graduation ice cream cone from Grandee's - double scoop.

I'm done. Now I'm going to Mexico for eight days. I'll be sure to chronicle my adventures.

I'm done.

Free Advice*

2007-12-10T15:02:00.000-07:00

I've always found choosing concert-going items a tricky business. Should I take my purse? No. I don't want to hold it whilst jostling about in the pit. Perhaps I should cart along some chapstick? Yes, yes. I must. Don't want to get chappy, unkissable, dry lips. Should I take my camera? Maybe. But, only if the shirt I'm wearing can support and conceal that much extra weight in my bra.

I usually settle on the bare minimum when going to a concert. In my pocket, I've generally got a chapstick, anywhere from 20 to 60 bucks (depending I how many t-shirts or waters I will purchase), and a single key for my car in case I lose my entire ring of keys. I don't even take a cell phone for fear of losing it or having it crushed by the mass amounts of bodies in the pit.

When I ventured out in 20 degree weather without a jacket on Saturday night to see Anberlin, Mae, and Motion City Soundtrack, I had four items in my right-cheek pocket: one tube of chapstick, three 20 dollar bills, one car key, and one ticket. When my brother (we were there because I was taking him to his first moshing type concert for his birthday), his friend, and I arrived winded and freezing after three and a half blocks of brisk walking at In the Venue, the only items I had in my right-cheek pocket were as follows: one tube of chapstick, three 20 dollar bills, one car key, and pocket lint. There was no concert ticket to be found - anywhere.

Somewhere in the three and a half blocks to the venue, either I'd lost the ticket or it had been stolen from me. We basically ran back to the car, but found no ticket. All my fastidious planning was for naught because I wasn't able to see one of my top three favorite bands.

Although I had money, the concert was sold out. I dropped my brother and his friend off, gave Jimmy the money I hadn't lost, and told them to call me when the concert was over so that I could come get them.

*This is where the free advice comes in. Will Call. Always Will Call your tickets people - ALWAYS! Your tickets will be waiting for you when you get there. Then you won't have to spend two and a half hours at the stupid Gateway mall (okay, it's not that stupid, I'm just real bitter) walking in (or out really) an outdoor mall, freezing. You won't be by yourself not looking cute because you got ready to go to a concert, not to go to the mall, and you won't get sneered at by high and mighty Forever 21 employees because, let's face it, you look like crap. You won't spend time by yourself cursing the Gods that you've become the type of person that buys a book in Barnes & Noble and then immediately reads it while still in Barnes & Noble. You won't be by yourself because your friends that live in Salt Lake would probably be home and would be able to entertain, console, and/or feed you. You won't be stuck not going to a movie because they all started at the wrong times or because you don't want to see another holiday family film, like The Santa Clause 37: Rudolph's Bastard Brother, Gary the Green Nosed Reindeer.

You also won't have to hear about how your litte brother went crowd surfing for the first time or about how you weren't there to see it, or how you didn't even get to boost him up.

You also won't have a sweatshirt from a concert that you didn't actually go to.

Will Call people. It's the only way to go. Take this advice. Love it. Cherish it. And for all that is holy in music's sake, don't lose your freaking ticket on the way to the venue.

Hurt

2007-12-05T18:24:00.000-07:00

Auden had always considered herself a good friend, the kind of friend that could listen and process, and be trusted. That’s why she sat and looked at him patiently, waiting while he searched for words.

Darnell’s picture of himself resembled a puzzle, the kind of puzzle that had fall colored trees and endless blue sky. Putting together that kind of puzzle takes patience and a keen eye. People don’t generally have time to put Darnell together. That’s why he fidgeted and looked away as her green eyes patiently waited.

“Everyone I know goes away in the end.”

The chair he was sitting on made him look like a child. The arms came up past his chest and the head of the chair was at least two inches above Darnell’s head.

As he began, his eyes were locked onto the stain on the edge of the arm of the chair. “My dad left me a letter before he left for good. I found it before my mom did, that’s probably why I still have it. I keep it in a box with dirt samples. I thought it would be one of the last places my mom would ever find it. I don’t really remember him. I don’t have any pictures. It’s like he’s dead, like she killed him when she burned the pictures. I only have the letter. ”

The couch creaked as Auden adjusted. She had the distinct feeling that he was telling her something he had never told anyone. She had thought it was strange that he began referring to her as his best friend shortly after they met, but now it occurred to her that no one had ever listened to him before.

“I’ve read that letter down almost past repair – the ink is so faded. I know what it says though. It says I should find someone I can call my sweetheart. It’s funny he’d say that. I think he hated my mom.” He looked up suddenly and met her gaze for the first time that night. “I’ve never told anyone about that letter before.”

***

The music was loud - the kind of loud that went into Auden’s head and pushed out any other thought so that the music became the only thing that was real. Her keen eyes kept jerking back to the entrance of the bar, searching for Darnell. He’d been gone for a week. She hadn’t gone that long without seeing him since they met. She liked knowing that she had a best friend that cared about her they way Darnell did.

She didn’t know if he’d find her in the crowd; she didn't feel safe standing there without him. Ten minutes after the set started, she felt a familiar hand on her back. Darnell was the only one she let touch her back that way. She turned and saw his beaming face. She made the mistake of believing his smile was for her, because he'd missed her.

They listened to a few songs. Swaying to and singing the lyrics they barely knew, Auden realized that having Darnell around was like being home. A few beers made Darnell realized that few people saw him like Auden did – maybe no one else could see him like Auden did.

“Auden. Auden!” He was used to stating things matter of factly, but he had to yell to be heard. His face kept bashing into the braid running around her head as he shouted into her ear.
She looked away from the band and smiled at his face.

“I’m gonna marry her!” His smile grew. Auden’s grin didn’t disappear right away, but as her eyes swelled wider, there was less room on her face for a smile.

“Bella! I’m going to marry Bella!”

“I know who you’re talking about!” Her voice was rarely so flat. Darnell forgot that Auden’s flat voice meant she was trying not to cry, that a flat voice meant her heart was falling down.

“I decided while we were gone to her family’s house!” Darnell saw her face flash in the lights from stage. “Wait! You like her, right?!”

“Yes! I do!”

“You’re my best friend Auden! Will you help me pick out the ring?!” He yelled this in her ear and as he got closer to her head, a bobby-pin stuck out from her head and scratched his face. Darnell barely noticed.

She pulled back from him and paused. She knew she had already lost her most trusted friend.

Her voice remained flat and she pushed his hand away from her arm. “If that’s want you want I’ll go! But you should know, you can have it all! Is she the one that’s going to help you do that?! You’re my sweetest friend….just….” Her voice faltered as the music grew louder. It was probably better that way

“God, why did you have to tell me here?! My thoughts are too broken here!” Auden had been looking elsewhere for help, the crowd, the walls, the bottle of beer in her hand. She hadn’t seen his face lose all expression. She hadn’t seen him put down a five and pick up his coat. Darnell had made the mistake of thinking she would tell him what he wanted to hear.

She grabbed his arm and the words came out before she could stop them. “Is she your sweetheart?! Can you call her that?!”

Her voice regained emotion as she yelled after him. “Wait! Wait! Let me start again!”

***

Bella sat on the tie-rug on the hardwood floor in the living room. She pulled documents out of a box. She rearranged things and filed them in a large cabinet they kept in the corner of the room. Sometimes she filed things by dates, then she’d take everything out when she found a new box and file them using another system. She liked to start again. The process gave her purpose, so boxes were piled around her and cabinet drawers were flung open.

Darnell walked in the front door. He wasn’t surprised to see the state of the living room. As he pulled off his boots, he said “I hurt myself today.”

She looked up in alarm. “Why would you do something like that?!” She tended to end questions with too much emphasis. Darnell felt intruded upon and guilty when she asked questions, even when she was only asking him to pass the salt.

“God. No. I didn’t do it on purpose, Bella. I was giving a shot to a cow and the needle got away from me. It tore a hole through my jeans and went into my leg.”

“Did it hurt?”

“Yeah. I guess it mostly stung. I usually pay more attention than that.”

Darnell sat down in the only chair that was available. “We should get rid of this thing. It’s got stains and no one fits in it right.” He spoke absentmindedly and fingered the ring on his left hand. His eyes perused the boxes on the ground.

“Where the hell did you find that box?!” By the time Bella looked up, Darnell was already moving to a box labeled “Private: Dirt Samples.”

“I guess you couldn’t read the part that said ‘Private!’” Darnell picked up the box as he spoke and treated it gently, as though the box contained sacred artifacts.

The whole episode looked odd to Bella. At first, she didn’t say anything as she continued to sit on the floor. While Darnell walked back to the chair with the box, she said, “I found a note in there. It looks like time has made the words disappear.”

A flash of anger began to race through Darnell, but he decided to calm himself instead of rage at her. It wasn’t her fault he’d chosen the ground beneath their bed for a hiding nook.

“Who wrote that note? It looks well read.”

“My dad.”

“What does it say? I couldn’t make out some of the words.”

“He gave me advice on life. Mostly about the woman I’d marry. He wanted me to find my sweetheart. I found it right after he left”

She had this way of looking at him that made him feel like he was looking at a puppy that was waiting for praise from it’s master. “Oh,” she said dreamily, “Oh. I see.”

“Yeah. My mom didn’t even know about it.”

She looked up again, intrigued by the revelation. “You mean, I’m the first person you’ve told about it?”

Can Childrens Really Learn?

2007-12-04T18:21:00.000-07:00

To add a second blog to the day.

Why didn't I have this when I ranted about Al freaking Gore?

Paralyzed

2007-12-04T16:49:00.000-07:00

Fall - to descend freely by the force of gravity; to leave an erect position suddenly and involuntarily ; to drop down wounded or dead; to enter as if unawares. Synonyms include stumble, stray, devolve, or break down.

For all the dreaded defining, falling has an interesting element involved. There can either be a surreal feeling of weightlessness that comes before the impact, this moment that can be sublimely euphoric or a moment that can paralyze one in fear. Falling onto fluffy pillows is much nicer than falling on asphalt, or falling and finding nothing to stop the fall.

I experienced the kind of fall that causes paralysis. Many things contributed to my catatonic state, but it started with falling in love - the kind of falling that causes euphoria. When the euphoria ran out, I felt like I'd lost some of the surest footing I'd ever been on. I traded concrete for mist.

I don't think I've ever regained that footing. I think for the past year, I've been paralyzed.

A euphoric state has been known to cause one to look past vulnerability and search for trust - to trade reason for comfort, and independence for companionship. I traded those things, but perhaps it wasn't the right situation for me to do so. We weren't committed to the same things in a relationship. We both ended up getting hurt and I ended up feeling used instead of loved.

Being paralyzed has caused me to feel loneliness to almost to the breaking point, but no more. I'm tired of this. It's done. I'm okay with saying that I need things, even though saying that makes me more vulnerable. I do need to feel loved and appreciated and wanted. I'm finished being angry and displacing that anger on people who and institutions that don't deserve it. I'm done being cynical, judgmental, and scared.

Love should have made me feel differently than this. I shouldn't have had to learn these things from in the aftermath, from the hard way. My resolution is that these things had to be learned somehow.

I'm ready to feel again, even if that means getting hurt another time, because I'll be feeling. I'm ready to be optimistic about what my future has in store for me, instead of worrying about what other people's futures have in store for me.

Also, I'm changing the name of my blog. It's time.

Comparatively Speaking

2007-11-19T19:36:00.000-07:00

So. I have this little problem where I compare myself to other people....a lot of the time. I concern myself with such thoughts as, "Am I as good of writer as he is?....well, why am I not then?" or "Am I prettier or uglier than her?" and, "Am I better girlfriend than she was?" Seriously speaking, five to ten of these thoughts run through my head on a daily basis. This, in actuality, could be better or worse than what I think, but I honestly don't care to know right now.

I think that this system/code has also existed within me - I'm pretty competitive. I've always been a bit concerned with being just a little better - the better teacher, the more trusted, funnier friend, the better speaker, the more well-liked, better-in-general person.

This thought process gets me nowhere.....fast.

What this thought process is actually doing to me as a person is making me digress in my quest to become a more balanced individual. In effect, worrying about being the "better person" is not making me a better person. It's making me more cynical, more degrading of others, more judgemental. This drive, this need to be better is causing me more pain than it is bringing me confidence.

People can't be set up in a Structuralist manner. The worth of a person's soul, life, and abilities cannot be summed up in two columns for binary scrutiny. The worth of a soul is embedded much deeper than these theories allow for - the route to humanity lies in a person's own standing.

I had a dear friend point out to me that I'll never write like Sharon Olds writes. I will never sing like Etta James sang. I'll never lead a life like Gandhi lead a life. I'll write like Sarah La Rue writes, and I'll sing like her too. I cannot find the worth of myself in other people: I must find it within myself because no one is going to live a life like I'm going to live a life.

The Top 5 of Why I Now Love "High Fidelity"

2007-11-16T23:00:00.000-07:00

1. Jack Black sings "Let's Get It On."
2. The entire film is about music.
3. The phrase "ass-muncher" is used.
4. Joan Cusack.
5. A person struggling in a relationship decides to make it work and give up the never-to-be-fulfilled-in-a-million-years-unrealistic-fantasy - and it's still a happy ending!

A Mild Disappointment

2007-11-13T19:47:00.000-07:00

I auditioned for the Vagina Monologues last night. I wanted the part of "My Angry Vagina." That monologue is the one I identified with the most because I love the resolution near the end.

I did not get that part. But, I think it's important to be involved in something bigger than yourself, because really, no part is insignificant when representing women.

This is a little idealistic, but I love the monologues. Everyone should see the show, with or sans vagina.

She or He?

2007-11-13T10:57:00.000-07:00

I don't know what it is lately, but I find myself looking at the structure of the romantic languages and finding that they are completely set up for a patriarchy. This is not what annoys me though because I've always sub-consciously been aware of this fact. What annoys me is that I try to explain my frustrations to other people, women included, and they look at me like I'm unbearably dim-witted. I think what actually hurts my feelings more than these people thinking I'm an idiot is that they really, genuinely don't give a rat's ass.

It annoys me when my mom and I go to the cinema and the high school boy taking tickets says, "Hey guys. How are you tonight?" Okay, he's being polite - but we are NOT guys, we are girls, women, ladies, etc. I'm not saying that I corrected the kid, although my mom did, I'm saying that if I were the one taking tickets and I had said, "Oh haaaaay ladies!" to him and his buddies, there would have been irritated looks cast in my general direction.

I brought this up at work, not to make a point but because someone coincidentally asked me. I was talking to five other males and they thought I was crazy. Their responses varied between, "Well, 'guys' is just a way to say people, " and, "Well, if you're going to be irritated about being 'guys' you'd have to be irritated about being called a 'woman' or 'human' because it has 'man' in it." Suffice it to say, I either did not articulate myself clearly enough or my concerns fell on deaf ears, but my point was not internalized -at all.

The paramount annoyance occurred today in my Educational Block when a guy who looks like he should be in "Deliverance," not education, got upset because he was reading an article about the effects of personality disorders in the classroom. The subject of the article who was supposed to represent all students was continually referred to as "he." The male in my class actually asked, "Hey. Is there some gender discrimination going on here?" - EXACTLY! I can't remember the last time I heard anyone stop and pose this question when the subject representing all is a "he" and there are positive attributes applied to that "he." Singular pronouns are now "he or she" for a reason - to start being more equal in language, and not just when one gender is being misrepresented.

I would love to say that men just don't understand. But that's completely false. I know plenty of men who would agree with me, not because they're feminists, but because they understand how linguistics structures are created and often, the male is privileged in speech and writing. I just wish there were more of those men here so that when I speak up, I'm not labeled as some crazy, misguided feminist.

I'm not saying I'm going to change an entire linguistic system, or correct someone, male or female, when they call my mom and me "guys," but I'm just asking that people realize what they are saying and why they are saying it. I'm a girl, not a guy dammit.

Somewhere Inbetween, Everything is A-OK

2007-11-07T11:04:00.000-07:00

After silence, that which comes nearest to expressing the inexpressible is music.

-Aldous Huxley

Good music feels like home to me.

I've been thinking lately how attached I am to music. Even when I'm the most lonely, I can put on familiar songs and be taken to a different place. Music is often my solace, my place to vent rage, a familiar face instead of a bleak and colorless expanse.

I find it interesting how I attribute songs to people and times in my life. I can be miles away from those people and times in my mind, but as soon as "Smile" comes on random play, I think of R, and how she anchored me, showed me how to hope again, and how she taught me to say "Fuck it" to all the rest. "The Future Freaks Me Out" reminds me of Pittsburgh and how I miss that city and how I regret not spending more time with the people I should have been spending it with. Yo Yo Ma reminds me of bathtime. Songs that I refuse to listen to anymore because my heart can't even take listening to the introductory notes take me to places that need to stay in the past.

I feel like songs become mine and they take on meaning for my life. I've decided not to do my Student Teaching or get my Level II License next semester, which is a big step for me as I rarely diverge from the "responsible/laid out" path. It's not that I'm giving up, it's that I've decided that not every inch of my life has to have a plan and that I'm not bound to decisions I made five years ago. I'm instead going to apply to grad school because more education is what I want more than anything. I want the experience of being out of my element and being challenged more than I have ever been. I'm ready to go someplace where religion doesn't matter as much as it does here - where faith is a choice instead of a social pressure. I don't know if any of this makes sense, but it somehow makes sense in my head as I listen to Buster.

The following lyrics reflect not what I feel to be love, but to be life. The words don't make me sad; maybe the combination of the music changes how the words sound, but this song makes me feel more at home than few other places lately.

Well, you're just across the street
Looks a mile to my feet
I want to go to you
Funny how I'm nervous still
I've always been the easy kill
I guess I always will

Could it be that everything goes 'round by chance?
Or only one way that it was always meant to be
You kill me, you always know the perfect thing to say
I know what I should do, but I just can't walk away

I can picture your face well
From the bar in my hotel
I wish I'd go to you
I pick up put down the phone
Like your favorite Heatmeiser song goes
It's just like being alone

Oh God, please don't tell me this has been in vain
I need answers for what all the waiting I've done means
You kill me, you've got some nerve, but can't face your mistakes
I know what I should do, but I just can't turn away

So go on love
Leave while there's still hope for escape
Got to take what you can these days
There's so much ahead
So much regret
I know what you want to say
I know it but can't help feeling differently
I loved you, and I should have said it
But tell me just what has it ever meant

I can't help it baby, this is who I am
Sorry, but I can't just go turn off how I feel
You kill me, you build me up, but just to watch me break
I know what I should do, but I just can't walk away

A Bi-Polar Day

2007-10-24T00:05:00.001-06:00

Today has been a weird day. A bi-polar day if you will.

And to start off today, I must start off with last night. A good friend delievered a healthy baby last night and I was able to meet this incredible person. She's exquisite, tiny, and beautiful and as I held her, a magnificent peace came to me. I watched her with her mother and father and sister and the quite in the room made a surreal memory that is imprinted forever. I want my own little people someday - not today - but someday. Seeing a brand new person and smelling that baby smell made me appreciate life much deeper than I have recently as I soaked in the bath last night - reading, reflecting, and listening to Buster (the Prodigal iPod returned last night!).

This bliss was ephemeral, as bliss often, not always, but often is. As I'm embarking into the wonderful world of student teaching next semester, I was hoping, and let's be honest, praying, that I would be assigned to a teacher that would be a catalyst for the proverbial spark. Today I learned that next semester will be a rigorous course in what not to do - I was disappointed by this knowledge and after I vented my frustrations in present and participle tenses of a certain four letter word, I felt mildly better.

Then I watched "Motherboy XXX." This episode of Arrested Development can be found in Season 2, on Disk 3. A highly recommended activity - after all, medical research supports laughing.

Then I got a retainer to complete my braces. And no, I don't like it when people call me "Brace Face," "Metal Mouth," or "Train Tracks." It wasn't funny in middle school when I had braces and just because I'm older doesn't make it funny now.

Then I went to Advanced Theory where we talked about feminism and Beloved - and yes, I am geeky enought to consider this an upswing in my day.

Then I went to work, where life wasn't so bad, but it is my nightly custom to expect that no one will drop by or disturb me after I return home from said employment. Not the case tonight. There were no less than three sets of visitors this evening - a statistical anamoly to be sure. One of the visits promted me to write the poem below.

Then I decided I knew what would utilmately make me feel better. But alas, there is no money for a coke slurpee right now, the usual kick to my endorphins. I located the following on youtube.com. I hope that it makes you feel better if you're having a bad day. And if you're having a good day, enjoy the bliss, for sometimes it truly is ephemeral.

This is Halloween

2007-10-24T00:02:00.001-06:00

I knew that you’d be here tonight.
There is no rhyme or reason to knowing this -
I just knew.
Knew that there would be a
Knock Knock.
You’d come sit casually on the couch.
Both of us would ignore the weight of the past.

Funny how I knew we’d talk about Halloween.
About costumes
About frivolous details
About caramel apples and cheap movies
I knew you’d still want to wear the same costume as last year.

Note To Self:
I have to remember to tell you there shouldn’t be repeat costumes.

I knew that after you left
I’d wonder if you still think of us.
I still do,
even though I don’t want to.
I knew I wouldn’t want to think
about last year and the unconvincing costumes we wore,
the caramel from the apples that wet stale around Thanksgiving,
the day the costumes finally wore out at Christmas.

I knew that I wouldn’t want any of it,
none of the memories,
none of us.
None of the details or the holidays or the costumes.

Knock Knock.
It's almost Halloween.

Brace Face

2007-10-18T19:10:00.000-06:00

One time I turned 22. Four days later I got braces.

I am one spectacle adjustment and "Ha-yuck" away from utter nerd-dom.

A Click on the Notch in Time

2007-10-17T13:43:00.000-06:00

I turned 22 this weekend. It's such a weird number to me - 22. There are no bells or whistles that can be attached to this number in my mind - but then, after one turns 21 there doesn't seem to be any exciting age coming up for about, oh, the next 19 years. But I digress; the real reason behind the post is to highlight the events of my birthday - a colorful vacation from a recently pale existence.

This birthday was the first one that I've never been home for - a sad fact in the timeline of my story. We celebrated my blessed day of arrival a week earlier, which, much to my chagrin, left me no opportunity to actually unwrap a present on my day this year. That's okay though - my mom told me on Saturday that she got me a Barnes & Noble Membership, so really, it's the gift that keeps on giving. Also, I received "Pink," my favorite perfume, Season 2 of Arrested Development, a wicked-sweet color illustrated edition of Animal Farm, and a new book signed by the author - plus some dinero care of my Papa, which is always a good choice in my opinion.

Insert "adventuretime" now. On Saturday, my real birthday, some friends and I headed to Vegas, not to see strippers, gamble, club, drink, or any of the like, but to play at an Aquarium and on top of the Stratosphere. We crammed into Cammi the Camry and after Brian Regan was done, we were there man! Just so you know, In & Out was real good. We then, after some geographical dilemma-time, we were off to Shark Reef to play with the fishes - or just watch them. There were many good times to be had at the Reef. Although the entrance fee is somewhat cost-prohibitive, I would highly recommend Shark Reef. The Jellyfish were my favorite sight and I enjoyed touching the Stingrays - where only "One-Touch" touching was allowed (NO TOUCHING! would have been better) - but my absolute favorite was when we were in the area where the fish could swim over and one could see their undersides. A small boy, perhaps five or six, blatantly and ever so adeptly pointed out that he did, in fact, see a "girl" shark. There were also many good times to be had in the Shark Reef Gift Shop as well...maybe too many good times. Others would have to be the judge of that, but here is the proof of the aforementioned good times.

Then we were off to the Bellagio to watch the Fountains and because a member of the group wanted to go to Tiffany's. I must pause at this juncture and be forced to digress - I agree with Chelsea Lane. I never want anything from Tiffany's - and this is why. A.) I felt out of place. No matter how hard I fight it, I will always be a country girl at my roots. B.) It's ostentatious. C.) As we were waiting for said member to get done shopping, I over heard a conversation that went like this - "Oh, that one's nice." Insert nicely dressed - with obvious implications to money - woman. "Yeah, and it's only 19." Insert nicely dressed with - obvious short leash - man. 19. That's 19 thousand dollars. That's my graduate school sitting on her dainty hand. I cannot support an organization that would allow such obscenities to be commonplace (and no, I don't need a listing of organizations that I do support - I'm making a point here). D.) It's ostentatious. E.) There are too many security guards for anyone - even St. Paul - to feel comfortable. Point taken? Mmmm-k. Digression will cease now!

We saw and did many things fun and exciting things at the Bellagio too. There were the gardens, the chocolate fountain, and the water fountain, where ironically enough we watched a show to "Singin' in the Rain" which is the musical that we saw on my 19th birthday. Ooo, Ooo! I also forgot to say that I valeted my car for the first time in my life. And although the car did not come back within the acceptable five minute wait period, I would recommend valeting one's car on his or her birthday - it's just neat. I also gambled for the first time in my life. I put in a dollar, lost once, then won, and cashed out at $1.50. I am now on a 100% winning streak - I never have to gamble again.

Now, this is the part of the evening that I'd been waiting for. I've always wanted to go on the rides at the Stratosphere and we were going! Although ominous clouds brewed the entire night, my friends and I went on every single ride available, took embarrassing pictures, and basically laughed until we almost peed and/or vomited. I would also recommend this to anyone! - the riding not the peeing and/or vomiting.

Although there were sporadic eye-brow raising events, I will now insert the pictures and conclusions can be drawn and the chips can fall, or be cast, where they may.

The night ended at the Cheesecake Factory. It was good. We were tired and we went home.

When I got home, my roommates had thrown me a surprise party because one of them could not go with us. It was great! It's the first surprise party I've ever really been surprised about. Oh, and on a sidenote - if you ever take someone away for a surprise party, make sure she is wearing a bra; it's much less awkward for everyone involved.

Now that this has taken me entirely too long, caused me to skip class, and is entirely different than what I normally blog about, I'm going to work. Peace out yo!

Al got a Nobel...Really?

2007-10-12T16:04:00.000-06:00

As I was searching msn.com today for the latest in "Undressed!", my eyes almost exited my cranium at an impressive rate of speed as I saw today's headlines. Was it Britney's most recent fashion/child/life faux pas that caught my deserving attention? Or perhaps J.Lo's booty finally broke the camel's back in pant apparel? Did Paris once again flash her cooter to the teaming paparazzi? I answer resolutely - Nay!

Not even the wonderful and joyous world of celebrity blunders could cause me to nearly asphyxiate on my Halloween sucker - "Al Gore receives Nobel Peace Prize for his work in global warming." I could scarcely believe what I saw or bring myself to click the link - but alas, I'm curious by nature. My eyes furiously and surreptitiously read line after line. The article "carefully" outlined the former Vice-President's work and efforts in the names of all things greenhouse, global, and environmental. (This is the part where I state that I vehemently agree that precautions need to be taken to ensure the safety and well-being of the environment and that I agree that people, myself included, are not doing our part to protect the Earth.) But does Al really get a Nobel Peace Prize? Really? The man made a f***ing movie - and not even a good one at that. I believe that at the halfway mark of the film I was in the midst of pinching my eyelids with my thumb and fore-finger to see how many times I could snap said eyelid back onto my eyeball. In utterance of The Bluth Family, "Come on!"

I cringe at the fact that for all time Albert Gore will have the title of Oscar Winning placed in front of his name, but to have Nobel laureate as well? To know that his name will be placed among names as Elie Wiesel, Nelson Mandela, and Doctor's Without Borders makes me cringe all the more. Now, do I realize that the group sponsoring Al Gore also received the prize? Yes. But will they get the press and receive just recognition? No. What about the producers of "An Inconvenient Truth"? What about the director? What about the scientists and experts that Al got the information from in the first place?

I'm sorry - actually, no I'm not - but I find this concept as laughable as I would if President Bush was to receive the prize for his efforts to exponentially further knowledge and awareness of how to correctly pronounce words in the English language, or if Bill Clinton received the prize for his work on a book called "Fidelity 101: Reasons to Not Cheat on Your Wife and Why Marriage is Sacred."

I know that I seem like I'm on a high-horse here - it's the plight of an English Major - but I find the fact that Al Gore lives in a 10,000 square foot mansion, which had to be built of wood and has to be somehow powered, and has a posse of vehicles, which are certainly not environment-friendly, suspect. I'm pausing to search for the right words here - oh yes, here they are - Al and Tipper (do parents think before they name?) were found to have power bills in excess of $1,200 a month - a month! Despite the fact that this amount is more than I make in a month, I believe my power bill was $38 this month and there are three somewhat moderate to moderate maintenance women living in my house - Come on!!!

I don't know why this irritates me so, but it does. Al Gore - Nobel Prize Winner. Bravo Norway.

A Death in the Family

2007-10-09T15:57:00.000-06:00

"Music was my refuge. I could crawl into the space between the notes and curl my back to loneliness." - Maya Angelou

Buster died this morning.

Buster is my iPod. My 80 Gig iPod that only had 4 Gigs left.

Perhaps it is because I anthropomorphize so many things in my life, but I feel like I've lost a friend. No, I don't have strange and salacious feelings for inanimate objects; I just think I'm lonely in general and not having Buster to keep me company on my walks to class or to listen to in the car reminds me that I am, in fact, lonely and alone.

This semester hasn't been anti-climactic or anything. There was nothing climactic about about returning to Cedar, about taking more undergraduate classes, about feeling like I'm stuck. People that I love have moved away and are doing different things - and I'm here. "X" moved. "Y" left. Our Dear Girl is off having adventures. My family isn't here. The few that are left I rarely get to see, or we go through the motions of a facade, for the sake of a pretense of a relationship.

I'm disappointed about so many things too. I had a crappy weekend preceded by a frustrating and sleepless week. I'm disappointed that I haven't connected with another person, or even God, in a long time. I'm disappointed in myself that I can't find balance and that for all my ranting about not needing a man that I still very much want one - and I'm disappointed that opportunity let me down too. I feel like I'm drowning in my classes. Every time I walk into the English building, no less than two people immediately ask me for something or where something is.

If I said that I was mourning for Buster, I'd be lying - Buster is the simulacrum of my loneliness and at the same time, a shield from it.

I'm tired. I want a good cry, but I'm blogging at work and they already think I'm weird. I want someone to crawl in bed with me and hug me til I fall asleep, because sometimes waking up by one's self is a lonely feeling, but I'll go home and sleep by myself tonight - Buster-less.

Today, perhaps, is just a bad day spawned by a bad week.

This weekend will be better. I'll turn 22. And even though I don't like even numbers, I know that it'll still be a good day. I know that I'll keep on until I too can cast off the chains I feel by being here, but still, today is a bad day.

Loaded

2007-09-26T15:51:00.000-06:00

Polygamist. Feminist. Homosexual. Book of Mormon. Koran. Democrat. Mexican.

We have these words in our language. We "seem" to have an agenda when we speak them; they've become loaded. What am I saying when I use these words? Am I using the phrase homosexual to describe every highly-effeminate, fashion-savvy, same-gender attracted man that I meet? No.That would be a stereotype. Do I use the word feminist when I want to describe every bra-burning, man-hating woman that I meet? The word Mexican to describe every person south of the border who wants to come into the U.S. to be a parasite on the economy? No. Those would be vicious stereotypes. Most of my homosexual friends who are men do not have more estrogen than I do. Many of the feminists I know are in healthy relationships with men and love a chance to drop some money at Victoria's Secret. And, I know plenty of people from Mexico that are honest and hard-working individuals. Stereotypes ≠ Everyone.

Why do we allow one word to represent the masses? Why is the Book of Mormon associated with every polygamist that has existed? Why is the Koran with every terrorist? The answer is in the form of a concept that I learned in grade school - one person, one day, one ideology can ruin it for everyone: that's why dodgeball got taken away.

Changing a belief system is a hefty undertaking - see Dissonance Theory. Today for instance, I had less than an argument, but more than a disagreement with someone about two words - the Koran (see the following post for case in point). She wants me to take them out: I want to keep them in. We both have belief systems and in this situation we are both right because there is no wrong answer. I pose these questions not prove that I am right and she is wrong, but to question - what do we see/hear when a loaded word is presented? Do we see every side or do we see our side? Am I naive or is she too set in her ways?

Words have meaning only because we give them meaning. If we did not store the meaning, letters would become gibberish. What meaning are you giving to language?

Amor. Muerte. Libertad. Violación. Asesinato.

I Wasn’t A Feminist Until I Found Four-Inch Red Stilettos

2007-09-25T13:49:00.000-06:00

The following is a piece I've been thinking about for a long time. Last night, it all came out. I plan on submitting it to an English Convention so any and all constructive criticisms, and also praises, are welcome. (It's still in a fairly rough draft form, but I need to get it out there.)

I Wasn’t A Feminist Until I Found Four-Inch Red Stilettos

I always picture a quaint scene in Barnes and Noble on a snowy day. A young, buff and surprisingly afro-ed version of my father walks up to the long haired, stick version of my mother. He says in his authoritative cop-tone, “Hey honey. When did you start reading children’s books?” A playful smile curls into his lips and somewhere beneath his busy mustache, his dimples indent slightly. As the snow continues to fall and create perfect, picturesque fog circles on the windows of this book haven, my mother then, not unlike now, is quick to retort without looking up, “Oh, I just wanted pick out your Christmas present early this year dear.” She gives him a frisky look and then they both realize they are in public place with their three-year old daughter and now is neither the time nor the place to start. My mother, always sure to make a point, then goes on to expound why she perusing the bargain priced kids’ books: she wants to make sure that I, her three-year old blonde and bashful pride and joy, have positive female role models to read about – she’ll have none of that manipulative-bitch-like behavior that is seen in sordid characters like that damn Tinkerbelle. My father, knowing full well that he married into this, rolls his eyes, shakes his head in an amorous way, and walks back to the magazine section of Barnes and Noble where those people hang out and waits expectantly until he has to inevitably cart a little girl and Christmas bags to the parking lot. The facts: Barnes and Noble couldn’t have been found in a hundred mile radius of where I lived in 1988; I grew up in Southern California and it snowed only once when I was six; my dad still may never have set foot in a bookstore in his adult life; and, my mother, well, the part about my mother is true. I grew up with positive, non-manipulative, non-bitchy, but vocal none-the-less, female role models.
* * *
I’ve been six feet tall since I was in sixth grade. School was tough until boys caught up and boys did not catch up until junior year of high school. Kids can be cruel, and kids were cruel. Because I was vertically “unique,” and because I had no problem speaking my mind or being the smart kid, there were three basic assumptions: one, I was the fat kid that weighed like a thousand pounds – how do those chairs hold her up again?; two, I was tall ergo I was good at basketball and volleyball and basically any other sport that required me to be athletic and my usefulness ended there; and three, (three is my favorite) I did not like boys and in fact, I did not need boys because I was masculine enough for the entire 7th Grade Basketball Team….although in retrospect, this could be true because there were some seriously late bloomers at South Sevier Middle School in Monroe, Utah. The facts: I weighed close to 140 pounds and was basically all muscle; I was freaking awesome at basketball, but the mop the janitors cleaned up with could have volleyed a ball better; and, I was so much in need of attention of boys that I stunted my own dating growth well into my sophomore year of college. In my adolescence, I was not the girly-girl, the pretty girl, or the girl who got asked out; I was the move-in-from-Southern-California-where-surely-there-must-be-something-wrong-with-the-water-girl that was completely mislabeled because I was me – I didn’t play any games because I never saw a need to. I just wasn’t “normal.” Oh, I also wasn’t blonde anymore.
* * *
I always picture a grassy middle school football field on a rare sunny day in April. Eighth graders are abundant and ready to leave the dregs of society behind for something much cooler: high school. There are about ten of us and the boy that I loath is in attendance. Intellectual exchanges are important in middle school, so we begin to discuss what names mean. For instance, Jordon – who is my beautiful, tiny, flirtatious best friend – her name means “hot,” ‘cause damn. We go around the circle, expertly classifying each others’ names and the boy whom I loath, the one I mentioned before, he gets his profound observation ready for the kill: “Sarah is a Fat-Ass name.” Before the awkward chuckles can finish, I whip out the secret, end-all-be-all trump card: “Yeah? Well, Tyson is a Limp Dick name.” Laughs are beyond being stifled because I have just handed out the biggest slam of any middle school career. Chubby/Tall girls are redeemed forever and stupid boys will think twice before they cross a girl that can think. The facts: my mom told me to say that.
* * *
There was a time in my life where I would wear nothing but flip-flops. Flip-flops, at the most, caused a half-inch change in stature. I wore flip-flops in the winter, and even when my toes would turn blue, I wore the flops. I wore drab colors and I didn’t know how to dress my awkward body. Girl’s clothes didn’t fit because I was too tall and I had started to mature, which meant I was getting stretch marks and cellulite in awkward places, like my arms and hips, because I was getter “curvier.” Boy’s pants gave me an inner-tube that Goodyear would have been proud to support and a figure reminiscent of the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man. I didn’t want to stand out so I walked with my beautiful brown hair in my eyes and my head down. The facts: I was popular by association; I incurred a devastating knee-injury that put me out of sports for the rest of my life during my freshman year and consequently gained 50 pounds due to inactivity; I was pity-dated to my Junior Prom and I couldn’t even find a dress to fit that I liked because I was too big; and, halfway through my first date ever, I was lied to, ditched, and left at a friend’s house to be the third-wheel wondering what I had done wrong.
* * *
Now, I live in a society where I am now past my expiration date because I am not married. I’m twenty-two. I have been graduated from high school, high school, for five years and am one of the last to be married and have at least one child. Because of this society, I once dated a man who, after five weeks of casual dating, said he didn’t know whether or not he should marry me so he was going to go pray about it because he just had no clue and he didn’t want to go wasting anybody’s time – I thought, “Well, dude, thanks for the heads up on that one.” He then told me I was everything he never thought he could have. He still left me, and then expected the nineteen year old version of myself to think there was nothing I had done wrong. I then dated a man who told me I was beautiful and brilliant – that was something new in my dating life – until this guy then figured out he couldn’t control me. He immediately proceeded to become emotionally abusive. Then there was the guy who was immensely relieved when I said, in jest, “Yeah…if I ever talk too much, just lemme know…wink, wink.” The facts: I’ve had a tough dating life, just like everyone else; the society in which I live, not the religion I align myself with, is the proverbial thorn in my side; I’ve learned from my mistakes and the mistakes of others; and I have finally been happier than ever because I became complete on my own and realized that settling for a bad relationship is worse than being single – I like being single.
* * *
Now that I’ve succeeded in making my life sound much more despondent than it actually is or ever has been, here are some more facts: I made it through high school gracefully, intelligently, and with a highly developed sense of humor and wit (or so I’ve been told); I lost 40 pounds; I have been always been able to articulate and communicate well; I was surrounded with family and friends that loved me, saw me, and appreciated me for who I really was and am; I graduated in the top 8% of my class and had four scholarship opportunities as an English Sterling Scholar; and, I never sold out and became something that I wasn’t. The only problem was that as entered college and began living away from anything that I knew, I still was not comfortable in my own skin.
* * *
I always picture a rainy afternoon during my senior year of college. I had just spent a night swimming and making up my own dives for jumping into a pool, connecting on a new emotional level with someone whom I loved very much, and finding that being a twenty-one year kid made me feel more happiness and genuine joy than few other pursuits. I walk into a store where I am bound to find a good deal and therefore can justify picking out an outfit that will make me what I think is smokin’ hot, and I suddenly find myself staring at my very own altar to the gods – a shelf full of shiny, shiny pointy-toed stilettos. Now, ladies with skis for feet can understand – Size 11 does NOT exist to the fine shoemakers of the world. A pair of shoes that gargantuan is not only offensive to the fashion world and to women as a species, but is probably abhorrent to humanity in general. Therefore, to find a pair of Size 11’s to strap on that one loves is cause for choruses of Hallelujah to ring through the halls. Hallelujah’s are currently ringing through the halls, perfectly timed glittering flakes have been released for a dramatic and celestial effect, and a spotlight from above shines down like a beacon of righteousness on a pair of Size 11 shiny, pointy-toed red stilettos – my pair of Size 11 pointy-toed red stilettos. The facts: this passage is completely, 100%, swear on the Bible, the Koran, and, even though she isn’t dead, my mother’s grave, accurate.
* * *
It is amazing how putting on and strutting around in a pair to shoes can increase one’s self-esteem. It is even more amazing to me to reflect on the person that I was and compare that girl to the woman I’ve become. Life, in all its glory and its stink, has helped me mature, laugh, cry, appreciate, and understand. The facts: I am so comfortable in heels that I can skip down the street, I’m a feminist because I believe men and women are equal and I believe that women are beautiful creatures; I was in the “Vagina Monologues” and my life changed – my dearest ambition for the next year is to be the Angry Vagina; I make it a point to dance naked in my room on a daily basis; I’m a six foot tall woman that on occasion becomes 6’4”; I seek to understand before I’m understood; I’m honest and ambitious and liberated; and, I plan on spending the rest of my life finding ways to make choruses of Hallelujah materialize as if from nowhere.

A Synaptical Misfire

2007-08-09T01:39:00.000-06:00

I never write when I'm happy.

I just realized this tonight. Or maybe, I was finally able to admit to myself tonight that I never feel eloquent or empowered when life is running smooth. I really don't think I ever wanted to admit that when I'm upset about something, I feel the most articulate. (Articulate is not to be confused with creative, contemplative, or inspired.) What writer ever wants to admit that to be a success, he or she would have to lead a fairly miserable life full of unrequited love, waffling faith, and broken relationships?

I feel that I have always envied writers who could write when they're happy. They must exist, but at this moment, I cannot think of one. John Donne - fairly miserable/spiritually torn: Emily Dickinson - depressed/suicidal: Hemingway needs no explanation, and, well, Chuck Palahniuk, in all his brilliant prose, he doesn't write about a single healthy heterosexual relationship. Maybe, perhaps, there is something embedded in the synaptical relay of an author or poet that runs a supercharged electrical signal to the cerebral cortex and then WaBam! you've got yourself a Pulitzer. Or maybe, I'm the one who is disillusioned about the concept of writing.

It's not that I'm particularly unhappy at this moment - quite the contrary actually: I'm happier, generally speaking, than I have been in months, but my heart aches tonight. My soul is filled with prayers tonight for many people, some of whom might not want me specifically to be praying for them: the woman who yelled at me at work today, and who I turn, made cry because of my silence; the lovers who I can't completely disconnect myself from; the friend who I can't feel slightly abandoned by - and all the people who probably do want my prayers - my soul aches and my fingers type because of that damn synaptical relay.

Maybe it isn't the plight of the author/blogger/thinker to be miserable. Maybe we just feel things and are moved to action when we see a deficit. Maybe we let our fingers rest long enough when life is balanced to enjoy the moment and maybe we use writing as a means to get past the unspeakable.

RationalLies

2007-07-31T01:57:00.000-06:00

To rationalize is to tell ourselves rational lies so that we believe them.

I sometimes have epiphanies in the shower. An odd place, I know, but they come whilst I scrub various appendages nonetheless. A long while ago, I was pondering the idea of being someone who I'd previously been with. He was/is a good man; I wouldn't been with him otherwise, but as much as I loved him and yearned to be with him again, something held me back time and time again. And then it came, amidst the rinse, lather, and repeat stage of my shower, a small, yet powerful voice that said simply, "No."

Instead of listening, I ignored and rationalized. He's a good man. He makes me happy. His mouth is incredible. He's the only one who wants me... My mind continued to race for a few days: luckily, I did not act on anything, especially mine own wants. After a few more rationalizations and a few showers where I committed to not think, I lapsed into the scent of my Zest - that's when it came. I thought about what my life, marriage, children - the whole enchilada - what it would all be like with him. Do not marry him. He WILL sexually abuse your children.

I couldn't believe my mind. I didn't want to believe the voice, but deep down, I knew it was true. Marrying this man would lead to a disaster of eternal proportions. I refused to listen for weeks again. I knew this man, this man that I loved, couldn't possibly be capable of such a thing. I wanted what I wanted and what I wanted was him, and to no longer be alone.

All the while the voice had been saying "No" and I'd been saying "Yes." Then I took the shower that saved me. I'd rationalized so much for so long that the voice said, "Okay. Do what you want to do."

One of the most hollow feelings in the world is what followed. I, a woman of God who is supposed to follow The Spirit at all costs and at all times and in all places, had just rationalized the safety of my own children away. I was so ashamed of myself, and to a certain extent, still am, that I would put my wants over the safety of children - my children.

I do not know if this man will ever be a sexual offender. I honestly doubt that he will. I think that my experience was a lesson for me and me alone. This experience showed me what it would be like to doubt the Spirit, my intuition, and simply live by the wants of my heart, without realization of what my current actions will have upon people in the future. Rationalization to this extent will never happen again in my life - ever.

I pose these thoughts and this deeply personal experience not to show the benefits of a highly scented soap and steamy water (although I think I can speak for most when I say that this is a good thing), but to question. How often do I rationalize? How many times have I? Don't worry, those two candy bars won't make your butt jiggle anymore. Spend the money on the shoes - you've had a horrible day. Ignore your head; it's what you really want.

I'm not married. I'm not even dating anyone. But I am happier now than I have ever been. I've been given an opportunity to view what eternity might be like if I gave into every one of my desires. I will then wait; wait until I find exactly what I'm looking for until I don't have to tell myself rational lies anymore.

Clean

2007-07-27T11:06:00.000-06:00

*These lyrics belong to Incubus and Incubus will forever be a part of this experience.

To whom it may concern:

You know this concerns you. Today, everything was fine / Until roundabout, quarter to nine / I suddenly found myself in a bind / Was it something I said? / Something I read and manifested that's getting you down? I'd been thinking all day; thinking of how to let you know that I love you, but that I'm concerned about your life. That's the position of a best friend, right? To not always agree, to sometimes challenge, but always to love and never to judge, right? I thought that's what I did. I know that's what I did.

I watched your face watching mine. You told me the news. You'd thought I'd be happy; you should have known that I would have been logical. I tried to lessen the blunt of my concerns. I thought that I had. Your eyes never faltered and never became angry as I spoke. I thought you understood that all I wanted to do was show you love my friend. Don't you dare come to bed with that ambiguous look in your eye / I'd sooner sleep by an open fire and wake up fried.

Say what you will, say what you mean / You could never offend, your dirty words come out clean. I know that you don't agree with my spirituality. I knew that was a fact when you said that'd I stop at nothing to get what I wanted, which is a Ph.D., even if not stopping meant ignoring Heavenly Father's Plan for me. Instead of telling me you were worried about the choices I was making, you made me feel guilty as you snapped your quick retort down like a clamp on my dreams. I shouldn't have let you do that. I should have communicated with you, but I was hurt - hurt because you don't really know me at all if you would say that.

After I spoke to you, for what looks like, ultimately, the last time, you said you'd call tomorrow so we could watch a flick. Little did I know that you wouldn't call. Tomorrow, what price will I pay?/ Could I make it all up to you by serving coffee for two in bed?/ Would you then give me the time of day? No, I could never make you coffee to be in your good graces. You hate the fact that I work at Starbucks. Starbucks isn't for Mormons, but I work there anyway on Sunday mornings and race home to teach Sunday School anyway.

I need a map of your head
Translated into English so I can learn to not make you frown
You'd feel better if you'd vent
Put your frustrations into four letter words and let them out on mine
The most weathered ears in town

If this is it, if this has to be goodbye, then know that I wish you well. I want so much happiness for you, and that, in truth, is why I voiced my concerns. I never wanted you as anything more than a friend. I did want you to stay longer than you have though. All I ask is that you Say what you will, say what you mean / No, You could never offend, your dirty words come out clean.

Disclaimer

2007-07-27T10:57:00.000-06:00

If you are someone I love, you might not always like what you read here.

That is the machine of writing, and now, writing is a part of my life.

I love you and thank you for being a part of my life nevertheless.