Prop 8

I want to be very clear about what I am about to write because it will, no doubt, offend at least one of the four of you who read this blog. But I don't care. This is my blog and I can write whatever I want. :)

I have issues with Proposition 8, and since I have already voted, I am proud to say I said YES on Prop 8. I think we absolutely need to abolish gay marriage and the concept of teaching about this "alternative lifestyle" in classrooms.

The arguments for prop 8 are very persuasive--everyone deserves a right to love, marriage is abused by heterosexuals, and only right-winged redneck fundamentalists are dull enough to gouge a hole in the logic that is progression in society.

I agree with this; everyone deserves a right to love. Marriage is abused by heterosexuals. Fundamentalists are radicals that are afraid of change.

This is what I do not understand: if marriage is a failing structure that is so abused, why do homosexuals want to be a part of it? What does love have to do with marriage in this postmodern world where anything goes and love is the most abused word in the English language? For once, I am on the side of the radicals because I believe that it is my duty, responsibility, and homage to my integrity, convictions, and God to not give way on the only gift God has provided people with that I should experience as He planned it.

What I mean is that I think it is more important to uphold God's standard of what marriage is than to pacify the small populace of homosexuals.

God calls his followers to be a light to the world, to be the salt of the earth, and to uphold His laws as well as we are able. I mentioned that love is already an abused word, and that may lead to more understanding about what should be a universally-accepted position on this amazingly controversial topic.

Language has evolved, there is no doubt about that. Words, especially in this postmodern era, have no meaning. Virginia Woolf said that "the meaning of words live in the mind, not in dictionaries." Without a basic understanding of words, there can be no definition. In fact, there would be so communication without definitions for words. Definitions give context and I think the only kinds of words that can function under this subjective mentality are slang words (see Urban Dictionary). Words must have meanings in order for anything to make sense because if you do not understand what "subjective" means and you define it on your own, not only are my words misconstrued, but you cannot make an argument against me.

Words must have meanings that are universally accepted because communication is vital and society cannot afford subjective communication. The problem with being subjective is that I can make anything fit into my world view. When people begin to manipulate context and word definitions with their own subjective interpretations, they inject their beliefs, opinions, and convictions into another person's beliefs. If you do not see the problem with that, you cannot be helped.

Therefore, it is vital to have a solid definition of what love is. There are 28 definitions of love in the dictionary and about as many synonyms:

Tenderness, fondness, predilection, warmth, passion, adoration. 1, 2. Love, affection, devotion all mean a deep and enduring emotional regard, usually for another person. Love may apply to various kinds of regard: the charity of the Creator, reverent adoration toward God or toward a person, the relation of parent and child, the regard of friends for each other, romantic feelings for another person, etc. Affection is a fondness for others that is enduring and tender, but calm. Devotion is an intense love and steadfast, enduring loyalty to a person; it may also imply consecration to a cause. 2. liking, inclination, regard, friendliness. 15. like. 16. adore, adulate, worship.

Because love is an emotion, it seems to be impossible to define. It is, absolutely, a subjective word. What is love for one person could be slight indifference to another, and it is this concept that makes a solid definition necessary.

When people begin to understand that love is not lust, when they understand the enduring, powerful, and complete authority of love in its true form, they will stop associating love with the shortcomings of lust, want, hunger, need, and desire. They will stop associating love with fleeting emotions because love consumes everything it touches.

When love is part of an equation, that is the outcome. Love equals love because it does not fade. Beauty, talent, wit, lust, desire, ambition, strength, everything. Everything. Every thing that is not love will fall. It will fail. The only word that might be slightly synonymous with love is stamina because it endures.

Not only would this understanding of love solidify what it means to be in love but it would reestablish marriage as the perfect union of a man and woman as God planned it.

The reason I advocate for marriage to stay between a man and a woman is because I am a Christian and as such, I am convinced that everything God created, He has power over. I also believe that as a Christian, I will be held accountable for the decisions I make, the laws I vote for, the people I support, the groups I am associated with, and the words I speak.

More than ever, people who hold convictions that there is a God who will judge us in the end need to uphold His laws. God directly commands us to keep marriage sacred, that the bond between a husband and wife are not to be broken by manly tools. Already, we have condoned divorce. Already we have condoned annulments. Already, we have joined people together who have lived together before marriage. Already, we have promoted premarital sex. Already, we have joined people together with shotgun weddings. Already, we have allowed people who do not understand the eternal nature of love to enter into the covenant that requires love to stand. Already, we have tainted the sanctity of marriage to accommodate society's standards and I have had enough.

God calls us to a higher standard. We have been scarping at the bottom of a barrel in a grave for morals that will guide us into what we think will result in universal happiness. We think we know what is best for us instead of looking to the authority on everything.

When we were kids, our parents gave us boundaries so we would know what was appropriate and what was forbidden. This kept us safe because left to our own devices, we would have stuck our fingers in sockets, dropped electric equipment in tubs, and shoved our bodies in dryers.

We need boundaries because contrary to this postmodern world, everything is not ok. What makes you happy can have consequences for other people, and society needs to wake up and realize that there is an end to the tunnel, even if it is man-made.

I fear that what will happen is that in the process of searching for morals, we will grasp the hands of Hell, and they will tell us, "Yeah, you really fucked up."

It is time now to enforce God's law, not man's law.

Burr At Me

I am so excited right now.

I just bought my luggage for when I go to Europe for Christmas.

I am practically there already.

Saturday, I applied for my passport, today I bought my luggage.

What does it look like? you ask? Please, let me show you.

This little treasure is my carry-on tote. I will use it to store my goodies, souvenirs, and overnight items, or even packing for mini trips, if need be.


The main luggage piece is this amazing rectangle right here:


A lovely specimen, is it not, of luggage finery? As one friend described it, "[it] looks like it may have been on a highlanders bare ass!!!"

I know you're dying to know what that looks like.





HEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE

OMG I am so deliriously happy about going to Europe. You have no idea.

Paper Planes, Anyone?

Someone is writing a paper about a poem I wrote two years ago.

I am so tickled by this, I don't even know where to start. The girl--I'll call her Goo--is in my small group leadership class and is in my group. It's really funny how things like that work out.

Anyway, she wanted to talk to me about my poem because she has to deconstruct it for her literary perspectives class and she wanted my feedback and reason for writing the poem.

I kinda wish we had recorded it. She had so much to say about it--that it's about philosophy and how we start off as one thing and move further and further beyond that until all we're left with is to question "what is beyond that?" She also thought it had something to do with God and how He brings to us an understanding of who we are and the things we do...da da da da da

I felt really bad telling her that I wrote it in about four minutes because I had to turn in four poems for my creative writing class.

Lesson learned: stop prescribing meaning to stuff. Lol

I want a that orange-vanilla milkshake from JItB. Mmmm.

These Boots Are Made For Walkin'...

"What if your husband wants to have kids?"

Seriously. I hate hearing this question. If people who asked me this just thought about it for a second, they would realize how stupid it is.

I went and had pie with my friend tonight and she said this to me. I didn't intend on bringing it up, but I pulled my card.

"What if your husband didn't want kids?" I said this to my friend, the lady who wants as many kids as she has eggs.

"Well, I would say 'too bad for you,'" she concluded.
"Exactly."

She still didn't get my point, so I clarified.

"Look, if the man is really the husband God has planned for me, he isn't going to want kids."
"But what if he does? What if you get pregnant?"
"What would you do if you never got pregnant?"

She stopped and thought. "Well, that would suck."
"Yes."

I do this sort of thing with everyone who brings the topic up. People know I do not like kids. They're gross. I don't want that kind of responsibility dumped on me, and I don't want to deal with building up an ethical, smart, and self-respecting person in this shit society. I am also too selfish to want to make my life revolve around someone other than me.

I wish people would understand that not every woman has a natural desire to want to be a mother. Not every person's purpose is to raise a family, and it irritates me when people look at me as if they are scandalized that I, a woman, do not want to employ the God-given talents of my breasts for anything other than sexual pleasure.

No thanks. My boobs are for a man. Hah!

Uno Dose Trace

*insert Marge Simpson grunt noise here*

I have a couple issues to rant about tonight.
1. boys
2. professors
3. writing

I.
Why is the world full of so many boys? Please note, I am saying boys, not men. There is a huge difference between these two. Boys are the people Vanguard is chock full of--the people who will park next to a lady getting a pack of 35 bottles of water from her car and not offer to help carry it across the parking lot, even though they have a class together and he's wearing a suit like he just got back from church.

I'm talking about boys who will wait for a lady to open the Heath doors instead of stepping forward and making a gesture. I'm talking about the boys who will ignore the solitary girl on the floor of chapel and not offer her his seat. I'm talking about the boys who never got a speech from their fathers on what it is to be a man. I'm talking about the boys who chuck a piece of paper across the aisle instead of handing it to a lady. I'm talking about boys who think they are men simply because their balls have dropped.

Guys are entirely different animals altogether. They are on the way to becoming men, but they are not quite there. They see a lady carrying water across the parking lot and if she is cute enough, he'll offer to help. They open the door and walk through, but do the weird backward door-holding thing that says "catch this". They see ladies sitting on the floor in chapel and ask their buddies if they can all scoot over and then stop looking her way when there isn't room. Unless she's cute--there's always room for the cute ladies. They will pass a paper to a lady but it wouldn't be beyond them to chuck it and laughingly pick it up, either. They have heard the speech about what it is to be a man, but not the full version. Their balls have dropped, and with them their eyes and IQ.

Men, where are you in my life?

II.
I never thought I would live to see the day when a professor asked me to get coffee before one of my male peers did. I thought the beat of my sorry excuse of a biological clock I have ticking its outrageous mating call would work before this happened. I've been in school for almost four years and I had yet to be asked for coffee to talk about something by either a professor or male peer, and yesterday, it happened. Via email. My professor proposed a coffee chat time to talk about theology. Not only have I been asked to get coffee by a professor, but it isn't even a professor in my major. It isn't even about a topic I am altogether passionate about.

Thankfully, it is a male professor and maybe I can get in some practice before I "really" get asked to get coffee and talk about anything.

On another professor note, I wish I had taken advantage of working in the Writing Center and spending about the same amount of time in the English department that the English professors do. The professors crack me up, and I wish I had spent time talking to them over the last four years instead of being all ... well, whatever I was Freshman and Sophomore year. It makes me want to go to Grad school and act the way I should have here in college.

And yes, Professor A is really cute and encouraging, and even though I'm not writing this blog on my bed, belly-down with pillow and fists under my cheek, kicking my legs and giggling, I sort of got butterflies when he portrayed that pseudo-image of me. You think I would be that adorable blogging?? I wanted to ask.

III.
I need to write 20 pages. I have this (stupid) story that I have to write twenty pages of by Friday/Saturday and I haven't been working on it. I intended to do some of it today--tonight. I was going to pull an all-nighter and stay up at my favorite coffee place and write away. Until they kicked me out, anyway. I really planned on it. But then I began writing down my to-do list and thought, hey, I'll do some reading instead... and then we ran out of toilet paper and I was like, might as well get some water, too... Then I got back and was really upset so I blogged about it.

Now it's almost 11:00 and I wanted to be in bed by now, which is what I decided when I re-evaluated my plan, and everything is falling apart tonight.

Gosh.

A Novelist Joke

I need to write for my conference course.

I have no interest in writing more about this character.

This is my issue with writing: I want to be done when I finish writing.

Stand Up Comic

I can't believe how well I crack myself up. I know I say this a lot, but I truly do make myself laugh, probably more than anyone else in my life. I am a ridiculous person and I love myself.

I didn't intend on writing a blog today, but I think that was a good transition for a topic I've been wanting to rant about for a while but keep forgetting to:

Misconceptions.

Everyone I know has had a horrible misconception about me. My first impression is not a good one, I get it. The thing that grates on every last nerve of my being is that when people begin to hang out with me, talk with me, etc, they always always always always ALWAYS tell me how they thought I was some combination of the following: bitch, mean, mad, upset, angry, rude, or surly. Mostly, people say my first impression is being a bitch.

I think it is a consequence of having a healthy (maybe too healthy...) self esteem. I think I am awesome and I don't want to have masses of people flocking me to hang out. I'm a busy person and there are people I don't want to convey my awesomeness to because they are irritating. I'm not interested in having irritating people in my life. So, I put up this wall of indifference so that people interested can take a step and say something to me and I will respond. I am very open with people and it kills me that people say I seem like a bitch.

Why?

Well, read my memoir. I think that will explain it.

Sticks and Stones and All That

“Mom.” I smiled to ease the impact my verbal blow would cause and placed my hand on her forearm. “It looks like you have a mullet.”

Believe it or not, this is a marked improvement of my tactfulness. A few years ago, I would not have even tried to comfort her with a smile or gesture and I probably would have said something much more snarky. When I was in high school, my mom asserted herself against me and told me in no uncertain terms that with my rude, disrespectful, and malicious attitude, it was a wonder I had any friends. She told me the only saving grace was my wit.

“Just because people don’t know you’re being a bitch at first doesn’t make it ok,” she added. Hearing my mom call me a word generally reserved for the lowest of women, or recently, women who like bling and booty calls, made me reevaluate how I spoke to others.

My mother is not the only sensitive person in my life, and often times I have to monitor myself to accommodate people’s sensitivities I do not even know about in order to keep my job at the writing Center. To someone who is insecure in his or her writing, I need to be a source of encouragement, not berate the misuse of commas and abuse of the word “and”. It is much more difficult for me to stop my instincts when they are screaming to tell people that if they cannot say a portion of their paragraph in one breath, they need to consider adding some form of punctuation! Instead, I must gently remind them that if they find themselves writing “and” more than twice in one sentence, they need to use a period or semicolon.

I think having a high opinion of myself to begin with may have contributed to my struggle in monitoring my blunt delivery. I have always believed myself to be funny, witty, charming, and intellectual enough to allow myself the freedom to say what I want in any way I prefer to say it. After all, if people did not like what I had to say, they would leave me alone and I appreciate irritating people who do not linger in my life.

Given that I have a history of speaking my mind and not getting in trouble for it added fuel to the forge where I manufacture double-edged swords. Not only could I attack someone with a sharp, offensive comment but I could disguise it as something funny that made my victim have to think about what I had said in order to understand the sting they felt.

I was my own weapon and I loved myself for it.

When my mom blazed at me for the first time in my life, I soon realized the importance of having a network of people I could share a mutual, healthy respect with. It is a struggle for me to bite my tongue, turn the other cheek, let something slide, and cross a bridge when I am itching to let an unsuspecting person tremble at the thought of asking the Data Analysis professor to explain cross multiplication when I need help understanding integers or whatever I was supposed to be learning, and I was not graceful when I detailed exactly how that girl should try something wild and keep her mouth shut. Being nice to people I do not know does not come easily to me, but every smile, every moment of eye contact, is a conscious effort at my attempt to be an open, friendly, and considerate person. Just don’t tell my mom.

When Hell Freezes Over

I am a little bit broken hearted right now.

I was so looking forward to this day. This morning, to be specific. Nothing else I have going on today is worth looking forward to--just homework. I had really high hopes for one of my appointments this morning because I am really interested in getting to know this man. I've been just dying for a chance to speak with him, get to know him, and be able to be his friend. He came in yesterday to make an appointment, and I didn't fawn over him and beg him to sign up for a time with me, but he did anyway.

I mean, you have no idea how long I've been wanting to throw myself at this man because I am enamored by him. I want him to take an interest in me and see if anything can happen.

Anyway, I told myself I wouldn't be some airheaded bimbo who tells him what he wants to hear. "You're going to be yourself," I promised. "If you woo him, it will be by the prowess of your editing skills and undeniable attractiveness of you."

He slept while I read some of his paper and I didn't watch him. I just did my editing, figuring out ways to make his argument stronger and gave him the same criteria I use for every other paper I read. He looked at the marks on his paper and said, "damn!"

I felt pleased to have taken him by surprise. I don't care if it was a positive or negative exclamation--it was an exclamation.

I reviewed my notes with him and he disagreed with some, and we had a little power struggle. "It's Turbanian, not MLA" he told me.

Yeah, I know. I know Turbanian. This is not it. I didn't say that, but I let it go. He has my notes and will find out soon enough that I was right. And, if I'm not, that's fine. I don't care.

But he left with my comments and my ink and I had to read another paper with a horrible prompt. I wanted him to stay and tell him I would read his paper during chapel--anything to make him know that I am competent of so much more than he had on his paper. He was five minutes late and I talked with him a bit before I read the measly four and a half pages I managed.

Should I have done something different? Instead of editing for his respect, should I have edited with his ego in mind? Hell no. I'm not ashamed of the work I did or the remarks I gave him. I'm ashamed that I didn't do enough and that he is going to get to spend time with another employee here. One I don't particularly like because she reminds me of people I went to high school with. That girl, the one I used to be, is who will get to spend time with the man I want in my future, to some degree.

To top it all off, I couldn't even find my fucking mascara.