They Love Me.

•December 10, 2010 • Leave a Comment

 

Admissions Essay: Why I want to go to a christian college

•November 30, 2010 • Leave a Comment

I grew up as the over achieving child of missionaries. Every good or bad decision I made was first ran through a filter of how much it would affect my parents work. If it hurt them, I did not do it. If it made them look good, I did.

I can remember being baptized, fasting, leading worship services, Sunday school, praying for the sick and even translating for visiting pastors. Those are good memories, and I’m proud of those things, but I do ask myself now how much of it was done for me and because they were things I believed in versus acting the part of the missionary daughter.

When I moved back to America after I graduated high school I struggled to find a church that suited my heart. I looked and looked and finally stopped. In this country apparently being a Christian implies following the rules of your fellow church-goers; when I couldn’t conform to what they demanded, I was not welcome.

I joined the military next, and lived a life that was foreign to my upbringing. I have matured and grown as a person because of the thousands of difficult experiences I survived, and the unusual people I have met. My eyes were opened to the size of the world and the variety of its populace, and I learned repeatedly that I was young and knew absolutely nothing.

I finally feel that I am comfortable with myself and who I am and what I mean. I want to attend a Christian university because this time my faith is my choice. I no longer feel compelled to talk pretty and smile big to impress my parents congregation; finally when I pray it is between me and my God, and not a show.

Most of my life has been lived by the standards of the people above me. I am now the boss of me, and I am ready to be back in a wholesome Christian environment and continue to discover exactly what my faith means to me as a unique individual.

Goddess be Damned

•November 14, 2010 • Leave a Comment

We’re having a party right now and there’s a guy over that is channeling a spirit he calls Lilith.

He said he was a dog lover so I introduced him to all our babies.
He started speaking some random language to them; I asked what it was, since he’s dark skinned and could possibly be some branch of Indian. Nope, it was a language his goddess gave him to communicate with dogs.

Later he was reading palms, and he told me that while I was currently in love, it wasn’t yet it. And that I’d missed the big IT.

Sorry lilith, but I’m not going to be surviving this one. That’s it.

The show must go on

•November 14, 2010 • Leave a Comment

“Where’s my girlfriend?”
” I don’t know. Where’s MY girlfriend”
“I don’t know. Do we have the same girlfriend?”
“yup”
“oh.”

Post-teenybopper

•November 12, 2010 • Leave a Comment

The music and celebrities that you obsessed over in your childhood aren’t, for the most part, the same ones I swore undying love to.

When I was little I loved M2M, Michael Learns to Rock, Gil and the Moffatts.

And ohhhh boy how I loved the Moffatts. They were a set of triplets and an older brother from somewhere in Canada, big around the time Hanson was in the States.

Their last album came out in the late 90s, and wasn’t as bubblegummy as the first couple. There’s even a couple songs on there that I still like.

Example one (which has been stuck in my head today):

There’s no windows in this place
for me to show my weary face.
Rage I hold within my soul
at times I cannot control.
What’s the point of me being here?
When being me is what I fear.
Every day it’s all the same
trapped again in my own pain.
I cry myself to sleep
so many secrets I must keep.
No one to reach me…nobody cares.
Trapped in the middle of a distant stare.
I’ve prayed that I was free
of this grief that’s filling me.
Everywhere I turn
every bridge must burn.
There’s no windows in this place
for me to show my weary face.

// it is a beautiful acoustic-guitar-only track that I’m about to go scour YouTube for.

hold yer’ frickin’ horses!

•November 10, 2010 • Leave a Comment

um – Obama’s nanny when he was little was a freaking tranny! omfg. it’s true. the NYT says so dammit. 

wait, additional scandal, as a child he had a nickname. i know. i know. it’s too much to handle. Barry. sounds unAmerican to me too. yep.

my absolute favorite quote of the whole article,

 His nanny was an openly gay man who, in keeping with Indonesia’s relaxed attitudes toward homosexuality, carried on an affair with a local butcher, longtime residents said. The nanny later joined a group of transvestites called Fantastic Dolls, who, like the many transvestites who remain fixtures of Jakarta’s streetscape, entertained people by dancing and playing volleyball.

that, my darlings, is some amazing sleuthing skills right now. off with his head!

on the real though, i can’t remember any dancing bois or girls playing volleyball in the streets and i feel a little offended and left out. is it because i was a pale skinned American? i mean, i also went to local schools, ate local food, had a nanny (cis girl though, boring) and got in trouble with my neighbors constantly.

fml.

You do know this is a costume, right?

•November 1, 2010 • Leave a Comment

this year was the 2nd time in my life that i can remember dressing up for Halloween.

Growing up, my parents were (and still are) not fans of devil infused traditions. (jesusislorddammit!) so i remember going to a couple Hallelujah parties, which involved kids dressing up and there being tons of candy.. but i don’t remember doing it myself.

as a freshman in college wayyyy back in the day i got gussied up as a surfer once. i wore low slung board shorts and a bikini top and had obnoxious drunk boys coming up to me all night and asking if they could touch my boobies. i also remember kissing a boy dressed as Lil Wayne (black mop, tin foil teeth. don’t worry, he took the tinfoil off). he was 17 or something and keep begging me, as an older woman, to ‘teach him some stuff’.  if only he knew i was quite virginal myself… still cracks me up.

anyways. i’m not adverse to the idea, costumes are fun, free candy is great, etc etc, but since i’ve been in the military i just keep being gone and i’ve always needed a wingman to get dressed up like an idiot. last year i was in Afghanistan, the year before that i was drinkingdrinkingdrinking and didn’t go out anywhere, before that i had just arrived in Baltimore and didn’t know anyone…ummm.. i forget what happened in 2007, but in ’06 i was in boot camp, so it just wasn’t done.

so this year, my darlings, i dressed up as a knocked up chain smoking and drinking housewife. i wore a sweet flowery dress, slippers and long white socks, a blonde wig with curlers in it, and the coup de grace was my belly: a bunch of rolled up shirts tucked lovingly into a pillowcase and ace bandaged onto my belly. sexy. mmmmm. haha.

i picked up my friend Daniel, who was not in a costume, and we went to Walgreens to get some smokes and cash.( I grabbed Virginia Slims bc i think thats what housewives smoke. maybe?) he was joking around with the cashiers, and one of them asked me what i was gonna be for Halloween. um. she turned neon and giggled and said she didn’t realize, and omg she’s so sorry. (was she calling me fat? rude.)

at the door to my favorite bar in town, the ID checker didn’t recognize me. neither did my bartender. it was fucking awesome. i had so many random guys walk up and ask me what i was doing out of the kitchen, or to make them a sandwich, etc. i caught tons of dirty looks as i was drinking and smoking. pool game was wicked off, but i claimed it was bc i wasn’t able to lean against the table bc i was protecting my little one haha.

at one point in the night i went to go pee. turns out i had accidentally ace wrapped my jockeys to my hips, so when i was done i stood in front of the mirror and readjust my belly via my sweet buttons running down the front of the dress.

 a chick standing next to me leaned in and asked if i knew what i was having yet. i smirk and said it was a boy obviously, because my belly was so low. god she lit up, started talking about babies and sonograms and pediatricians and ob-gyns and her two sons. so i just keep sipping my rum and dr pepper and nodding along and mmmhmmmming every thing she was saying. finally, finally, finally she paused for breath and asked if it was my first child. i said, “you do know this is a costume, right?” she stammered that she saw me adjust my belly and it was skin toned. i said yeah, and showed her the ace bandage. she turned bright red and apologized, and took off running.

made my fucking night.

don't freak out, it's just a costume.

You do know this is a costume, right?

 
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