I have this fantasy where i'm one of those smoky, sultry babes that has a witty double entendre to reply to every remark, no matter how mundane or inconsequential. In my fantasy, a routine remark on the weather can turn into a steamy make-out session in seconds, because my words are so saucy and seductive that i create an atmosphere of constant eroticism and irresistible sensuality.
In reality, the responses that usually occur to me are less "sexy and witty" and more "awkward and slightly horrifying". Fortunately for me, i manage to keep the vast majority of these remarks in my head. Fortunately for you, i have compiled them here.
Don't you wish your girlfriend was hot like me?
John: "I'm updating my webpages."
Me: "I'm updating my vagina."
What? No. That's not sexy. That's not even a thing.
John: "I just like to manhandle you sometimes."
Me: "I like to handle your man. Your little man. Your penis."
Stop. Just stop talking. If you have to explain it this much even to yourself, it's not sexy.
Showing posts with label bad decisions. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bad decisions. Show all posts
Monday, January 19, 2015
Monday, September 10, 2012
College 101
Okay guys, it's time for some tough truth: not everyone should go to college.
My dad is a genius. Literally. He's taken the IQ tests and was a member of Mensa until he opted out because he was tired of all the flyers they kept sending him. He skipped a grade in school, he coasted through high school, he was admitted to Dartmouth as a chemistry major, and he got kicked out in his freshman year because his depression was so crippling that he couldn't even get out of bed. He transferred to a small Christian school in Massachusetts, where he met my mother, and when they got married and moved to Baltimore, he got jobs and worked while she finished school. He never graduated from college, and is still one of the most brilliant, talented, educated people i know.
I know someone who is borderline retarded. I'm not being insensitive or politically incorrect -- she is actually close to being intellectually disabled. She told me this herself. Her IQ is 85 (mental retardation is 70 or below, 100 is considered average). She spent some time in rehab as a teenager. She did a lot of drugs and drank a lot of booze when she was younger, and she didn't get a chance to start college until she was well into her twenties. But she finished her degree in four years, and last i heard she was checking out grad schools.
Here's the thing: we've all seen the articles about how people with graduate and postgraduate degrees earn more money over their lifetime than those without. But the important part of that phrase is "over their lifetime". When you graduate from college, you have two choices: find a job immediately and start paying off your student loans, or take out more loans to go to grad school so that you can postpone paying your student loans and also postpone finding a full-time job with good pay. Jobs that require degrees are harder to get than jobs that don't, and they often don't pay as well at the entry level. Once you've earned more degrees and advanced your education (and your debt) further, you can get promotions and raises, and by the time you retire you'll be making bank. But you still have to pay off your student loans, and you may find yourself eating ramen and cold pizza for several years after obtaining your BA or BS. College is expensive, and it will be a long time before you see any financial benefits from your degree.
If you want to go to college so that you can make more money, turn back now. It will be a long time before you can realize that dream. Your best money-making bet is to get an Associate's degree in business from a community college, find a good internship or entry-level position in a financially stable corporation, and work your way up. When you've been there long enough, they may help you pay for additional classes, which can also be taken at a community college or even online. If all you want is to make money, don't travel out of state to a private, liberal arts college and pay for four years of tuition, room and board, student fees, and books. It will likely be many long, hard years before you see any return on that investment. Some people are luckier than others and fall into their dream job immediately after graduation, and they make six figure salaries after two years and pay off all their student loans in fifteen months. Do not assume that this person will be you. The only reason that they got that lucky is because they never assumed that they would get that lucky. They worked hard, they took chances, they pursued the things they wanted. And for every one of those stories i can tell you ten more of people who took years to get any luck, of people who slacked off and never achieved their dreams, of people who worked as hard as they could but still had to settle for second best, or even third.
I know that culturally, college is viewed like thirteenth grade. It's sort of assumed that you'll be going to college, studying for four years, getting a bachelor's degree in something. But i have seen so many people graduate with a degree in liberal arts, or business, or English, just because they picked something they liked in high school or something their roommate was studying or something that sounded easy to get a degree in. Those people ended up working in pet grooming shops, or in a department store, or as someone's secretary or receptionist. If that's what you want to do, you should do it right out of high school, instead of wasting four years and tens of thousands of dollars. If you work in a pet grooming shop for a few years and then suddenly realize that you want to be a vet, or a research biologist, or an architect, you can always go back to school. Yes, it's harder to go back when you've been gone for a while. But it's also hard to pay rent and student loans at the same time when you're working 35 hours a week at Dunkin Donuts. And if you work at a pet grooming shop for a few years and then suddenly realize that all you want to do is groom pets, start taking night classes, or online courses, and get a business degree and open your own pet grooming shop.
Don't let anyone pressure you into college, including your parents. Ask them if they really want to pay for four years of education when you don't know what you want to study. Make a deal with them: you can live at home and work and save money for one year. If at the end of the year you know what you want to major in, you'll go to school. If you don't, you'll move out and support yourself. Do some research: show them statistics about student loan default rates, about how much money you can expect to make your first year after graduation, about the average debt of college students after graduation. Tell them that you are making the responsible decision to hold off on spending money for college until you're sure it will be worthwhile.
If you know exactly what you want to major in and where you want to work and what you want to do with your life, you may still want to consider a state school or community college, or postponing college for a year or two. College is fucking expensive, and it takes a long time to pay off. Even if you are one thousand percent certain and committed and motivated and driven, it will take a long time to realize your dreams. It will take a long time until you can live the life you've dreamed of. Do not get drunk in a hot tub three months after graduation and start crying in a fake British accent about how you've been waiting "so long" but you can't find a job (yeah, Fay, thanks for ruining my 21st birthday). It's been three months. This is going to be a long, expensive, difficult, stressful, exhausting struggle. Be patient, work hard, and understand that you're going to face a lot of failure before your "big break".
Think of it this way: if you inherited some sort of legacy that gave you an allowance of $100,000 a year, what would you do with your time? Would you still want to write? Would you still want to teach? Would you still want to clean teeth? Would you still want to sell clothes? What is the one thing you could see yourself doing for the rest of your life, even if you didn't need any money? Now imagine that you are getting an allowance of $30,000 a year. It's enough to make ends meet, as long as you don't have kids. But working would give you some extra income, would help you save and afford big purchases and maybe even support a family. What is the one thing you would want to do? Now imagine that there is no allowance, no inheritance. It is up to you, to your talents and skills and passions to support yourself and your future family. What do you want to do?
If the answers you're coming up with are things like "socialize", "something that would give me lots of vacation days and leave my weekends free", or "something with a good benefits package", don't go to a liberal arts college. Maybe don't go to college at all. Go to a vocational school, take business classes online, work full-time at a bagel shop or part-time as a security guard or intern at a business. But if the answers you're coming up with are things like "counsel suicidal teenagers" or "write poetry" or "teach seventh grade math", go to college. Get your degree. Just understand that, while all of the stress and money and hardship will be worth it in the end, the end is a long way from where you are now. Be prepared.
My dad is a genius. Literally. He's taken the IQ tests and was a member of Mensa until he opted out because he was tired of all the flyers they kept sending him. He skipped a grade in school, he coasted through high school, he was admitted to Dartmouth as a chemistry major, and he got kicked out in his freshman year because his depression was so crippling that he couldn't even get out of bed. He transferred to a small Christian school in Massachusetts, where he met my mother, and when they got married and moved to Baltimore, he got jobs and worked while she finished school. He never graduated from college, and is still one of the most brilliant, talented, educated people i know.
I know someone who is borderline retarded. I'm not being insensitive or politically incorrect -- she is actually close to being intellectually disabled. She told me this herself. Her IQ is 85 (mental retardation is 70 or below, 100 is considered average). She spent some time in rehab as a teenager. She did a lot of drugs and drank a lot of booze when she was younger, and she didn't get a chance to start college until she was well into her twenties. But she finished her degree in four years, and last i heard she was checking out grad schools.
Here's the thing: we've all seen the articles about how people with graduate and postgraduate degrees earn more money over their lifetime than those without. But the important part of that phrase is "over their lifetime". When you graduate from college, you have two choices: find a job immediately and start paying off your student loans, or take out more loans to go to grad school so that you can postpone paying your student loans and also postpone finding a full-time job with good pay. Jobs that require degrees are harder to get than jobs that don't, and they often don't pay as well at the entry level. Once you've earned more degrees and advanced your education (and your debt) further, you can get promotions and raises, and by the time you retire you'll be making bank. But you still have to pay off your student loans, and you may find yourself eating ramen and cold pizza for several years after obtaining your BA or BS. College is expensive, and it will be a long time before you see any financial benefits from your degree.
If you want to go to college so that you can make more money, turn back now. It will be a long time before you can realize that dream. Your best money-making bet is to get an Associate's degree in business from a community college, find a good internship or entry-level position in a financially stable corporation, and work your way up. When you've been there long enough, they may help you pay for additional classes, which can also be taken at a community college or even online. If all you want is to make money, don't travel out of state to a private, liberal arts college and pay for four years of tuition, room and board, student fees, and books. It will likely be many long, hard years before you see any return on that investment. Some people are luckier than others and fall into their dream job immediately after graduation, and they make six figure salaries after two years and pay off all their student loans in fifteen months. Do not assume that this person will be you. The only reason that they got that lucky is because they never assumed that they would get that lucky. They worked hard, they took chances, they pursued the things they wanted. And for every one of those stories i can tell you ten more of people who took years to get any luck, of people who slacked off and never achieved their dreams, of people who worked as hard as they could but still had to settle for second best, or even third.
I know that culturally, college is viewed like thirteenth grade. It's sort of assumed that you'll be going to college, studying for four years, getting a bachelor's degree in something. But i have seen so many people graduate with a degree in liberal arts, or business, or English, just because they picked something they liked in high school or something their roommate was studying or something that sounded easy to get a degree in. Those people ended up working in pet grooming shops, or in a department store, or as someone's secretary or receptionist. If that's what you want to do, you should do it right out of high school, instead of wasting four years and tens of thousands of dollars. If you work in a pet grooming shop for a few years and then suddenly realize that you want to be a vet, or a research biologist, or an architect, you can always go back to school. Yes, it's harder to go back when you've been gone for a while. But it's also hard to pay rent and student loans at the same time when you're working 35 hours a week at Dunkin Donuts. And if you work at a pet grooming shop for a few years and then suddenly realize that all you want to do is groom pets, start taking night classes, or online courses, and get a business degree and open your own pet grooming shop.
Don't let anyone pressure you into college, including your parents. Ask them if they really want to pay for four years of education when you don't know what you want to study. Make a deal with them: you can live at home and work and save money for one year. If at the end of the year you know what you want to major in, you'll go to school. If you don't, you'll move out and support yourself. Do some research: show them statistics about student loan default rates, about how much money you can expect to make your first year after graduation, about the average debt of college students after graduation. Tell them that you are making the responsible decision to hold off on spending money for college until you're sure it will be worthwhile.
If you know exactly what you want to major in and where you want to work and what you want to do with your life, you may still want to consider a state school or community college, or postponing college for a year or two. College is fucking expensive, and it takes a long time to pay off. Even if you are one thousand percent certain and committed and motivated and driven, it will take a long time to realize your dreams. It will take a long time until you can live the life you've dreamed of. Do not get drunk in a hot tub three months after graduation and start crying in a fake British accent about how you've been waiting "so long" but you can't find a job (yeah, Fay, thanks for ruining my 21st birthday). It's been three months. This is going to be a long, expensive, difficult, stressful, exhausting struggle. Be patient, work hard, and understand that you're going to face a lot of failure before your "big break".
Think of it this way: if you inherited some sort of legacy that gave you an allowance of $100,000 a year, what would you do with your time? Would you still want to write? Would you still want to teach? Would you still want to clean teeth? Would you still want to sell clothes? What is the one thing you could see yourself doing for the rest of your life, even if you didn't need any money? Now imagine that you are getting an allowance of $30,000 a year. It's enough to make ends meet, as long as you don't have kids. But working would give you some extra income, would help you save and afford big purchases and maybe even support a family. What is the one thing you would want to do? Now imagine that there is no allowance, no inheritance. It is up to you, to your talents and skills and passions to support yourself and your future family. What do you want to do?
If the answers you're coming up with are things like "socialize", "something that would give me lots of vacation days and leave my weekends free", or "something with a good benefits package", don't go to a liberal arts college. Maybe don't go to college at all. Go to a vocational school, take business classes online, work full-time at a bagel shop or part-time as a security guard or intern at a business. But if the answers you're coming up with are things like "counsel suicidal teenagers" or "write poetry" or "teach seventh grade math", go to college. Get your degree. Just understand that, while all of the stress and money and hardship will be worth it in the end, the end is a long way from where you are now. Be prepared.
Monday, August 20, 2012
scars, 1
I attended a writing retreat last January. One of the workshops was about writing biographies and memoirs, and the woman leading the workshop gave us several prompts. One of those prompts was to write about how we got our scars. This is what i wrote that day:
The scar on my left index finger was incurred during an unbelievable bout of stupidity. I had been painstakingly whittling something for weeks, despite having no whittling talent or training and nothing but a battered Swiss Army knife to work with.
But it was my latest obsession, and i took any and every opportunity to work on it.
One day, we were at a stoplight. I knew it was a long light, so i pulled out my tools. So engrossed was i in my work that i didn't see the light change. The old Ford Windstar minivan started moving with a lurch, and the knife blade slid smoothly into my finger.
I stared at it for a moment, watching the blood bubble up around the blade. It had gone in horizontally and lay under my skin. Then it clicked: i had a knife in my finger and it hurt.
I don't remember what i said to my dad to alert him to the emergency. I do remember him yelling at me as he tried to find a place to pull over. Our first aid kit was empty except for Band-aid wrappers and some calamine lotion. Dad found an old Sunday school paper to wrap around my finger until we got home.
I never finished whittling that thing. I think it was going to be a doll. I've long since lost both the block of wood and the knife, but the scar is still visible as a pale, slightly curved line on my left index finger.
The scar on my left index finger was incurred during an unbelievable bout of stupidity. I had been painstakingly whittling something for weeks, despite having no whittling talent or training and nothing but a battered Swiss Army knife to work with.
But it was my latest obsession, and i took any and every opportunity to work on it.
One day, we were at a stoplight. I knew it was a long light, so i pulled out my tools. So engrossed was i in my work that i didn't see the light change. The old Ford Windstar minivan started moving with a lurch, and the knife blade slid smoothly into my finger.
I stared at it for a moment, watching the blood bubble up around the blade. It had gone in horizontally and lay under my skin. Then it clicked: i had a knife in my finger and it hurt.
I don't remember what i said to my dad to alert him to the emergency. I do remember him yelling at me as he tried to find a place to pull over. Our first aid kit was empty except for Band-aid wrappers and some calamine lotion. Dad found an old Sunday school paper to wrap around my finger until we got home.
I never finished whittling that thing. I think it was going to be a doll. I've long since lost both the block of wood and the knife, but the scar is still visible as a pale, slightly curved line on my left index finger.
Monday, July 23, 2012
So i guess the moral of the story is that my grandmother is a cougar. And i was a sexy, if somewhat androgynous, 14-year-old.
Gay guys always tell me i'm pretty. Like, lots of different gay guys in lots of different contexts at different times and places. And they are not always drunk in a dimly-lit room at the time.
I was always highly complimented by this. Like, "They don't even like girls and they still think i'm attractive!" But it recently occurred to me that maybe they just think i look like a hot guy. Which has been said of me before. By my grandmother.
When i was fourteen, i cut my own bangs. I had cut my own hair before, most notably my eyelashes (story for another day. Actually, no: one time, i cut my own eyelashes. End of story), but up until this point, most of my experience was with cutting Barbie hair. However, i did a decent job of it. They were a heavy, straight-across fringe that, according to my crazy friend Renee, made me look like a little like Anck Su Namun.
I was always highly complimented by this. Like, "They don't even like girls and they still think i'm attractive!" But it recently occurred to me that maybe they just think i look like a hot guy. Which has been said of me before. By my grandmother.
When i was fourteen, i cut my own bangs. I had cut my own hair before, most notably my eyelashes (story for another day. Actually, no: one time, i cut my own eyelashes. End of story), but up until this point, most of my experience was with cutting Barbie hair. However, i did a decent job of it. They were a heavy, straight-across fringe that, according to my crazy friend Renee, made me look like a little like Anck Su Namun.
 |
| Except my boobs were bigger. And usually covered by more than pasties and gold body paint. |
However, my mom hated them.
For about a year, i'd been toying with the idea of getting a pixie cut. My hair is very thick, and Maryland gets very humid in the summer (like, from late April through mid October). Also, i was lazy and self-conscious and didn't want to spend hours every day trying to get my hair to look good. That was time i could spend knitting or re-reading Harry Potter or talking to a cat. I figured a pixie cut would be cute, comfortable, easy to maintain, and would give me a hip, rock-and-roll edge over my much cooler friends. (I was homeschooled and fourteen. Shut up.)
My mom decided that this was the perfect opportunity to talk me into making the leap. I was nervous, but consoled myself with the thought that hair always grows back. We went to a salon and i picked out a style. I was completely thrilled with the look and comfort, although less than thrilled with the sticky styling waxes and clays the stylist recommended. Can't i just comb it and air-dry, like boys do? Have we invented metrosexuality already?
The next day, at Wednesday evening prayer service, i was wearing a slightly baggy t-shirt and my hair had that "I-got-a-new-haircut-yesterday-and-have-no-idea-how-to-style-it" look. My grandmother was sitting on the other side of the (very small) sanctuary. My mom was chatting with her before the service, and Mommom asked her who the good-looking young man was sitting next to my brother. My mom glanced over, and then looked back at Mommom and said, "That's Diana."
Whatever, Mommom. That haircut landed me the Abercrombie model-lookalike who worked in the grocery store, okay? And he was totally hot and older and not even homeschooled and my sister saw him recently and said she thinks he's gay now and -- oh, fuuuuuuuuu . . .
Monday, July 9, 2012
Reason #14 Why I Should Live With My Boyfriend
One of my roommates went to the grocery store this week and brought back butter for everyone to use. Unsalted butter. Who does that?!
Monday, May 21, 2012
My Boyfriend Shot My Brother
My very first boyfriend, Fusco, was also a good friend of my brother Adam. He was my first boyfriend, and i was the first of my siblings to date anyone, so it was not very familiar territory. However, we mostly managed to all hang out together without too much awkwardness.
As i settled into the relationship more, i would sometimes hang back and let the boys do things together when Fusco came over. On one such occasion, they went into our back yard to play with Adam's pellet gun. They had set up some paper targets and were having a grand old time.
They were almost out of pellets, and they reloaded the chamber one last time. There were not quite enough pellets to fill the whole chamber. Neither of them counted how many pellets went in.
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| http://modernpentathlon-tickets.blogspot.com/2012/01/pistol-and-ammo-used-in-olympic-modern.html |
When the gun stopped firing, Fusco asked Adam to shoot him in the hand so he could feel how powerful the blast was. Adam obliged. Then, Fusco wanted Adam to feel the blast.
The pellet lodged itself in Adam's diaphragm. It was centimeters away from his aorta, his spine, and lots of other things the severing of which would have resulted in death. The doctors struggled to remove it, as it moved with each breath he took.
He survived and was totally fine in a few weeks, but we always joked about the "war wound" he sustained, right after Hurricane Katrina and in the middle of the War on Terrorism. Of course, this was six years before we knew that he'd have actual war wounds from Afghanistan, but Fusco still felt pretty terrible about the whole thing.
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
Overheard in the Office 15
"He has a busted hand, because he got in a fight over the weekend. But I think he could be The One."
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
a little less hope
Have you ever met one of those couples that, when you look at them, you think, "That's it. That's the real thing."? Every time you see them together, you have a little more hope in relationships. You know that love is real, and that love lasts.
Have you ever seen that couple ripped apart by infidelity and lies?
My star couple fell in love in a matter of weeks. They spent every minute together. They were best friends. I lived with her two summers in a row. One of those summers was right before her wedding in August.
I went to their wedding. They were the first couple that John and i went on a double date with. I saw them at events, helped her plan an elaborate birthday party for him, watched their life together grow for nearly three years.
Then the truth was revealed: during their engagement, he had cheated on her twice. Scared and disoriented by the speed at which their relationship was progressing, he panicked and did something terrible.
He had also been addicted to prescription pain killers and pornography for nearly their entire relationship. While she knew that he had had these struggles in the past, he had assured her that it was all over. Five months after they started dating, it all started again. He even stole pills from members of her family.
They're in counseling, but they don't know yet where they will end up. She wants to leave, but she feels that the right thing to do is to give it one last try.
Last night, she got very drunk, made out with a stranger, and ended up in the ER. Her husband met us there and drove us home. She asked him to put her rings back on her hand. It may mean nothing, or it may mean everything. A bond like theirs can withstand a lot. But it has taken a pretty heavy blow. Even if they survive this, we all know now that things like this can happen. Grief like this can come to any of us. Love is not all you need.
I still have hope in them, in love. It's just a little bit less.
They're in counseling, but they don't know yet where they will end up. She wants to leave, but she feels that the right thing to do is to give it one last try.
Last night, she got very drunk, made out with a stranger, and ended up in the ER. Her husband met us there and drove us home. She asked him to put her rings back on her hand. It may mean nothing, or it may mean everything. A bond like theirs can withstand a lot. But it has taken a pretty heavy blow. Even if they survive this, we all know now that things like this can happen. Grief like this can come to any of us. Love is not all you need.
I still have hope in them, in love. It's just a little bit less.
Friday, March 9, 2012
Overheard in the Office 11
"I want a baby!"
"Really?"
"Yes! I can't wait to have babies!"
"Get a dog."
"Really?"
"Yes! I can't wait to have babies!"
"Get a dog."
Monday, February 13, 2012
Ghosts of Boyfriends Past: Casey
I don't like thinking too much about "Casey", but it's good to get it out.
In my sophomore year of college, i was recovering from my first love. I was finally starting to move on, when along came Casey. He was a senior, and had spent the last semester studying at Oxford.
Initially, he was interested in my friend Emily, but after she rejected him he took an interest in me. I had always had a thing for him, despite my gut feeling that he was an asshole. Our relationship progressed slowly; it was April, and he was graduating in May. Plus there was the awkwardness of Emily to deal with. We were all three uncomfortable with the situation, and each of us was jealous of the others for one reason or another. It was messy.
In late April/early May, Casey and i were making out almost every day, though the words "relationship" and "boyfriend/girlfriend" had yet to be spoken, except in jest. He told me that he loved me, and that he wanted to marry me and raise children with me and settle down with me, but he would not call me his girlfriend. I was hopelessly besotted and was certain that everything would work out in time.
After graduation, his plan was to have his parents pay his rent and other expenses while he figured out what he wanted to do with his life. Shockingly, they objected to this plan, and brought him back with them to Texas. I was devastated by the separation, but he assured me that all would be well.
And for a time, it was. We talked constantly on Facebook, AIM, and text. I downloaded Skype and bought a webcam; he promised that he'd get around to it. We talked about his dreams, goals, desires, trying to figure out his calling in life. But as the summer went on, things got more and more strained. I was living on campus and had no friends nearby. He was living at home and likewise alone. We were both slipping into a depression, but while i clung to him as my source of light and comfort, he pushed me away. He wanted to wallow in his misery.
Toward the end of July, he was in a wedding in Massachusetts. He came up for a long weekend, and he got a hotel room. For the first time in my life, i shared a bed with a lover. Yet despite our closeness, we still lacked intimacy. There was a wall between us, and i didn't know how to get rid of it. Things came to a head on his last night. We had had a fight, and i was crying silently in the corner of the bed. I would have left, but it was dark and well after midnight and nearly a mile to walk back to campus. He noticed my trembling, and suddenly his arms were around me and he was whispering in my ear. He apologized for his distance and coldness, and begged my forgiveness. He promised that things would get better soon, that he would snap out of it and figure out his life, that he would move back to New England and we would be together.
That was the night that i almost had sex.
I was nineteen, naked, and saying yes, but Casey couldn't follow through. I later concluded (perhaps falsely; i'm not sure) that it was because he loved me. He told me that night that he knew i wanted to wait, that he didn't want to ruin my future, that he didn't want to ruin our future. So he abstained, and we slept together in only the most literal sense.
Over the next few weeks, our communication grew steadily more sporadic. From August to February, he did not speak to me at all. I wrote him letters almost daily, and saved them in a bundle to send to him one day.
At last, he contacted me again. We started to talk, and i sent him my letters. Our relationship took off to new heights. He had pulled out of his depression and was determined to find a job -- any job -- and save up to move back to me. He would go through Hell to be at my side, my love would sustain him through any trial, and together we would have a wonderful life.
But he couldn't follow through. His depression and self-doubt continued to hound him, and prevented him from supporting me. Understand this: i believed then and still do now that Casey loved me as completely as he was able to. I just don't believe that he was capable of very much love. He couldn't support me in my endeavors if he was not personally interested in them. It wasn't enough to love me. He couldn't ask about my day, he couldn't ask about my writing, he couldn't ask about my friends, my family, or my faith. I eventually realized that he only loved me in relation to himself. He only loved me because i was pretty and smart and talented and i loved him. He could see this wonderful creature who was interested in him and feel better about himself. Beyond that, i had no value to him. He didn't care about any intricacies of my personality and character that were not directly involved with his ego. He just wanted brainy arm candy, and if i had hobbies outside of him, that was fine. But he had no desire to be involved with any parts of my life that didn't intersect with his.
Finally, i ended it. My heart had been so broken and bruised that i had nothing left to give him. He begged for a second chance, but i was reluctant to give it. We continued to talk every day, but i was growing tired of his neediness and his shallow interest in me. Finally, after the whole Theo thing, i knew i had to tell him what i had done. Not because he was my boyfriend and i had been unfaithful, but because he wanted to be my boyfriend and i thought he was entitled to know the truth. I also had a presentiment that he would want nothing further to do with me when he found out what i'd done.
I was right. He told me that he wanted nothing further to do with me, that he never wanted to think about me again, and after one very strange email exchange that September, we never spoke again.
In my sophomore year of college, i was recovering from my first love. I was finally starting to move on, when along came Casey. He was a senior, and had spent the last semester studying at Oxford.
Initially, he was interested in my friend Emily, but after she rejected him he took an interest in me. I had always had a thing for him, despite my gut feeling that he was an asshole. Our relationship progressed slowly; it was April, and he was graduating in May. Plus there was the awkwardness of Emily to deal with. We were all three uncomfortable with the situation, and each of us was jealous of the others for one reason or another. It was messy.
In late April/early May, Casey and i were making out almost every day, though the words "relationship" and "boyfriend/girlfriend" had yet to be spoken, except in jest. He told me that he loved me, and that he wanted to marry me and raise children with me and settle down with me, but he would not call me his girlfriend. I was hopelessly besotted and was certain that everything would work out in time.
After graduation, his plan was to have his parents pay his rent and other expenses while he figured out what he wanted to do with his life. Shockingly, they objected to this plan, and brought him back with them to Texas. I was devastated by the separation, but he assured me that all would be well.
And for a time, it was. We talked constantly on Facebook, AIM, and text. I downloaded Skype and bought a webcam; he promised that he'd get around to it. We talked about his dreams, goals, desires, trying to figure out his calling in life. But as the summer went on, things got more and more strained. I was living on campus and had no friends nearby. He was living at home and likewise alone. We were both slipping into a depression, but while i clung to him as my source of light and comfort, he pushed me away. He wanted to wallow in his misery.
Toward the end of July, he was in a wedding in Massachusetts. He came up for a long weekend, and he got a hotel room. For the first time in my life, i shared a bed with a lover. Yet despite our closeness, we still lacked intimacy. There was a wall between us, and i didn't know how to get rid of it. Things came to a head on his last night. We had had a fight, and i was crying silently in the corner of the bed. I would have left, but it was dark and well after midnight and nearly a mile to walk back to campus. He noticed my trembling, and suddenly his arms were around me and he was whispering in my ear. He apologized for his distance and coldness, and begged my forgiveness. He promised that things would get better soon, that he would snap out of it and figure out his life, that he would move back to New England and we would be together.
That was the night that i almost had sex.
I was nineteen, naked, and saying yes, but Casey couldn't follow through. I later concluded (perhaps falsely; i'm not sure) that it was because he loved me. He told me that night that he knew i wanted to wait, that he didn't want to ruin my future, that he didn't want to ruin our future. So he abstained, and we slept together in only the most literal sense.
Over the next few weeks, our communication grew steadily more sporadic. From August to February, he did not speak to me at all. I wrote him letters almost daily, and saved them in a bundle to send to him one day.
At last, he contacted me again. We started to talk, and i sent him my letters. Our relationship took off to new heights. He had pulled out of his depression and was determined to find a job -- any job -- and save up to move back to me. He would go through Hell to be at my side, my love would sustain him through any trial, and together we would have a wonderful life.
But he couldn't follow through. His depression and self-doubt continued to hound him, and prevented him from supporting me. Understand this: i believed then and still do now that Casey loved me as completely as he was able to. I just don't believe that he was capable of very much love. He couldn't support me in my endeavors if he was not personally interested in them. It wasn't enough to love me. He couldn't ask about my day, he couldn't ask about my writing, he couldn't ask about my friends, my family, or my faith. I eventually realized that he only loved me in relation to himself. He only loved me because i was pretty and smart and talented and i loved him. He could see this wonderful creature who was interested in him and feel better about himself. Beyond that, i had no value to him. He didn't care about any intricacies of my personality and character that were not directly involved with his ego. He just wanted brainy arm candy, and if i had hobbies outside of him, that was fine. But he had no desire to be involved with any parts of my life that didn't intersect with his.
Finally, i ended it. My heart had been so broken and bruised that i had nothing left to give him. He begged for a second chance, but i was reluctant to give it. We continued to talk every day, but i was growing tired of his neediness and his shallow interest in me. Finally, after the whole Theo thing, i knew i had to tell him what i had done. Not because he was my boyfriend and i had been unfaithful, but because he wanted to be my boyfriend and i thought he was entitled to know the truth. I also had a presentiment that he would want nothing further to do with me when he found out what i'd done.
I was right. He told me that he wanted nothing further to do with me, that he never wanted to think about me again, and after one very strange email exchange that September, we never spoke again.
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
Ghosts of Boyfriends Past: James
A friend of mine coined a term in college: Freshman Mulligan. For those of you (like me) who are not up on your golf terms, a mulligan is a free do-over. Basically, if you mess up your stroke, you can take it over again and the bad one isn't counted on your score-card.
A freshman mulligan is a relationship in your freshman year of college that is a really terrible idea, but you're a freshman, so you get to date someone else and pretend that the old one never happened.
James is my very messy, complicated, unfortunate, regretful Freshman Mulligan.
The day i moved into my freshman dorm was the day that my parents decided to separate. My first care package from home, in October, contained a letter from my mom. Tucked in between the funny stories from home and the advice about college life were a few lines about her marriage. They were in therapy, but she didn't have much hope for a future.
Obviously, i was not in any condition to get into a serious relationship. So obviously, that was exactly what i did. James was a kid i'd known for two or three years from church events. He was really sweet and gentle, like a teddy bear. I knew that he was safe and loyal and easy, that being with him would be effortless, that i could take shelter in his affection without risking my heart. I liked him, but i knew from the start that this would never be a serious relationship.
There were other issues with our relationship. He was far more conservative than i, and constantly disagreed with me on things like my desire to get a tattoo, or my bellybutton ring. Also, he very much wanted to find a good Christian girl in college, settle down and get married, and be a pastor. I am not cut out to be a traditional pastor's wife, and he wouldn't be anything but a traditional pastor, his facial piercings and Chucks notwithstanding. I was seventeen and hurt and vulnerable and terrified, and didn't want to think about marriage just yet. But even before we started dating, he was thinking about how my first name would sound with his last one. Even before we started dating, he was thinking about the kids we'd have.
We dated for barely four months before i was strong enough to cut it off. He'd known it was coming, but was still bitter and angry and jealous, convinced that i was dating a mutual (flamboyantly gay) friend. He said nasty things behind my back and through text messages, he got very angry whenever he saw me with my gay "boyfriend", and he brooded all over campus for the next three months. And then he started dating a fabulously beautiful blonde athletic genius. They got married two years later.
A friend of mine once asked how James, who was of average intelligence, charm, and looks, had managed to land two of the most attractive girls in our graduating class. I can't speak for his wife, but i can say that while James may have been pretty nondescript and a little annoying, he was nice. And he was safe. And sometimes, that's all you're looking for.
A freshman mulligan is a relationship in your freshman year of college that is a really terrible idea, but you're a freshman, so you get to date someone else and pretend that the old one never happened.
James is my very messy, complicated, unfortunate, regretful Freshman Mulligan.
The day i moved into my freshman dorm was the day that my parents decided to separate. My first care package from home, in October, contained a letter from my mom. Tucked in between the funny stories from home and the advice about college life were a few lines about her marriage. They were in therapy, but she didn't have much hope for a future.
Obviously, i was not in any condition to get into a serious relationship. So obviously, that was exactly what i did. James was a kid i'd known for two or three years from church events. He was really sweet and gentle, like a teddy bear. I knew that he was safe and loyal and easy, that being with him would be effortless, that i could take shelter in his affection without risking my heart. I liked him, but i knew from the start that this would never be a serious relationship.
There were other issues with our relationship. He was far more conservative than i, and constantly disagreed with me on things like my desire to get a tattoo, or my bellybutton ring. Also, he very much wanted to find a good Christian girl in college, settle down and get married, and be a pastor. I am not cut out to be a traditional pastor's wife, and he wouldn't be anything but a traditional pastor, his facial piercings and Chucks notwithstanding. I was seventeen and hurt and vulnerable and terrified, and didn't want to think about marriage just yet. But even before we started dating, he was thinking about how my first name would sound with his last one. Even before we started dating, he was thinking about the kids we'd have.
We dated for barely four months before i was strong enough to cut it off. He'd known it was coming, but was still bitter and angry and jealous, convinced that i was dating a mutual (flamboyantly gay) friend. He said nasty things behind my back and through text messages, he got very angry whenever he saw me with my gay "boyfriend", and he brooded all over campus for the next three months. And then he started dating a fabulously beautiful blonde athletic genius. They got married two years later.
A friend of mine once asked how James, who was of average intelligence, charm, and looks, had managed to land two of the most attractive girls in our graduating class. I can't speak for his wife, but i can say that while James may have been pretty nondescript and a little annoying, he was nice. And he was safe. And sometimes, that's all you're looking for.
Monday, February 6, 2012
Ghosts of Boyfriends Past: Ford/Victor
Since neither of these relationships lasted for longer than a month, i'm combining them into one entry.
"Ford" was first. When i was fourteen, my friends and i started inexplicably taking late-night trips to Acme (grocery store). Looking back, i'm sure these trips really only happened half a dozen times, but it seemed like we were there once a week, usually to stock up on chips and soda for a sleepover.
There was one bag boy who was HOT. And i don't mean that we were fourteen and thought he was cute but really he was dorky. I mean he looked like an Abercrombie model. He was clearly older than we were, but no one was sure how much older. He always seemed to be there when we were, and always seemed to be looking at me. I actually didn't notice his attention until one of my friends pointed it out.
"Acme Boy is staring at you!" she whispered piercingly.
"What? No. I'm sure he's looking at all of us," i whispered back.
But the other girls soon confirmed it: Acme Boy had eyes only for me. Many months went by of awkward staring and smiling. When i was there with my mom, he'd check me out. When i was there with my friends, he'd check me out. Finally, one day, i was there with my uncle. As we were in the checkout line, Acme Boy was bagging groceries two lanes away. A few minutes later, he found a reason to move to the very next line. We continued staring and grinning until i was distracted by my uncle. Suddenly, Acme Boy was standing right next to me, and he slipped me a piece of paper, whispering, "Call me." On it was his name and number.
My friends and i were speechless with giggles. (What? We were fourteen. The stereotype is true: teenage girls giggle a lot.) My mom encouraged me to call, which i did the next day.
As it turned out, Ford was seventeen. He had just turned seventeen, and i was two months away from my fifteenth birthday, so it wasn't that significant a gap. As it further turned out, Ford had not realized that i was fourteen. He had thought i was twelve.
We continued chatting (and made out a few times) over the next few weeks, until Ford learned that i didn't want to have sex until i was married. I never heard from him again, though my sisters have since spotted him waiting tables at a sports bar. They say he has put on weight, and they are pretty sure he's gay.
"Victor", oddly enough, was an old friend of Fusco. I met him when my brother started taking Tae Kwon Do in town. Victor was in his class. He looked like a Hollister model, combining skater-boy edge with big blue eyes, dimples, and golden curls. I fell for him instantly and kept crushing on him for an entire year, even during the whole Ford fiasco. But he had a girlfriend.
Eventually, however, they broke up, he noticed me, and we started texting. I was nearly heartbroken when i learned that he was interested in a girl from my youth group, and tried to dissuade him by persuading him of her craziness (which was true, by the way. She was crazy.) The next day, he asked me out. Obviously i should have turned him down, but i was fifteen and he was really cute.
We dated for nearly three months before he broke it off because he was "going through some stuff" and needed to face it alone, like a "lone wolf". It wasn't until a few months after that that i learned he'd been cheating on me with the crazy girl from my youth group. Or maybe he was cheating on her with me. I never found out enough about the timeline to be sure, and i never wanted to. I did find out that he had been basically molesting her for their entire relationship. She was two years younger than we were (thirteen), and way too young and sheltered to be dating an older boy or to be making mature decisions about her sexuality. He'd pressured her into all kinds of things, and i am just selfish enough to still be glad that, for whatever reason, i had managed to escape that part of his character.
"Ford" was first. When i was fourteen, my friends and i started inexplicably taking late-night trips to Acme (grocery store). Looking back, i'm sure these trips really only happened half a dozen times, but it seemed like we were there once a week, usually to stock up on chips and soda for a sleepover.
There was one bag boy who was HOT. And i don't mean that we were fourteen and thought he was cute but really he was dorky. I mean he looked like an Abercrombie model. He was clearly older than we were, but no one was sure how much older. He always seemed to be there when we were, and always seemed to be looking at me. I actually didn't notice his attention until one of my friends pointed it out.
"Acme Boy is staring at you!" she whispered piercingly.
"What? No. I'm sure he's looking at all of us," i whispered back.
But the other girls soon confirmed it: Acme Boy had eyes only for me. Many months went by of awkward staring and smiling. When i was there with my mom, he'd check me out. When i was there with my friends, he'd check me out. Finally, one day, i was there with my uncle. As we were in the checkout line, Acme Boy was bagging groceries two lanes away. A few minutes later, he found a reason to move to the very next line. We continued staring and grinning until i was distracted by my uncle. Suddenly, Acme Boy was standing right next to me, and he slipped me a piece of paper, whispering, "Call me." On it was his name and number.
My friends and i were speechless with giggles. (What? We were fourteen. The stereotype is true: teenage girls giggle a lot.) My mom encouraged me to call, which i did the next day.
As it turned out, Ford was seventeen. He had just turned seventeen, and i was two months away from my fifteenth birthday, so it wasn't that significant a gap. As it further turned out, Ford had not realized that i was fourteen. He had thought i was twelve.
We continued chatting (and made out a few times) over the next few weeks, until Ford learned that i didn't want to have sex until i was married. I never heard from him again, though my sisters have since spotted him waiting tables at a sports bar. They say he has put on weight, and they are pretty sure he's gay.
"Victor", oddly enough, was an old friend of Fusco. I met him when my brother started taking Tae Kwon Do in town. Victor was in his class. He looked like a Hollister model, combining skater-boy edge with big blue eyes, dimples, and golden curls. I fell for him instantly and kept crushing on him for an entire year, even during the whole Ford fiasco. But he had a girlfriend.
Eventually, however, they broke up, he noticed me, and we started texting. I was nearly heartbroken when i learned that he was interested in a girl from my youth group, and tried to dissuade him by persuading him of her craziness (which was true, by the way. She was crazy.) The next day, he asked me out. Obviously i should have turned him down, but i was fifteen and he was really cute.
We dated for nearly three months before he broke it off because he was "going through some stuff" and needed to face it alone, like a "lone wolf". It wasn't until a few months after that that i learned he'd been cheating on me with the crazy girl from my youth group. Or maybe he was cheating on her with me. I never found out enough about the timeline to be sure, and i never wanted to. I did find out that he had been basically molesting her for their entire relationship. She was two years younger than we were (thirteen), and way too young and sheltered to be dating an older boy or to be making mature decisions about her sexuality. He'd pressured her into all kinds of things, and i am just selfish enough to still be glad that, for whatever reason, i had managed to escape that part of his character.
Sunday, January 15, 2012
Writing Retreat, Day 2
The scar on my left index finger was incurred during an unbelievable bout of stupidity. I had been painstakingly whittling something for weeks despite having no whittling talent or training and nothing but a Swiss army knife to work with.
But it was my latest obsession, and i took any and every opportunity to work on it.
One day, we were at a stoplight. I knew it was a long light, so i pulled out my tools. So engrossed was i in my work that i didn't see the light change. The old Ford Windstar minivan started moving with a lurch, and the knife blade slid smoothly into my finger.
I stared at it for a moment, watching the blood bubble up around the blade. It had gone in horizontally and lay under my skin. Then it clicked: i had a knife in my finger. And it hurt.
I don't remember what i said to my dad to alert him to the situation. I remember him yelling at me in a panic as he tried to find a place to pull over. Our first aid kit was empty. Dad found an old Sunday school paper to wrap my finger in until we got home.
But it was my latest obsession, and i took any and every opportunity to work on it.
One day, we were at a stoplight. I knew it was a long light, so i pulled out my tools. So engrossed was i in my work that i didn't see the light change. The old Ford Windstar minivan started moving with a lurch, and the knife blade slid smoothly into my finger.
I stared at it for a moment, watching the blood bubble up around the blade. It had gone in horizontally and lay under my skin. Then it clicked: i had a knife in my finger. And it hurt.
I don't remember what i said to my dad to alert him to the situation. I remember him yelling at me in a panic as he tried to find a place to pull over. Our first aid kit was empty. Dad found an old Sunday school paper to wrap my finger in until we got home.
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
sketchy things i have done
Camping
Once, when i was really little (like 4 or 5), my family went camping. Our particular campsite was a little removed from the bathrooms, which were on the other side of a little creek. One day, i needed to go to the bathroom. No one else needed to, so i decided to go alone.
Have i mentioned that i have a really terrible sense of direction?
Several hours later, i was wandering on the OTHER SIDE OF THE CAMPGROUND, crying and alone, and with (i was little, okay?) dampened drawers. A lady in a car stopped and asked if she could help me. I got in her car, and she took me to the bathroom. When i got out, my mom was there.
Tattoo
When i decided to get my second tattoo, one of my downstairs neighbors recommended a friend of his. My roommates and i drove to a slightly ghetto neighborhood and met the guy at his house. He explained that, while he was fully licensed to tattoo, his parlor was temporarily closed for a board of health violation. Apparently, the piercing guy was under investigation for performing a procedure he was not licensed for. According to my roommate's friend, the piercing guy was fully licensed, but the bitch at the board of health had it in for them. So he took us into the back room of his house, where i laid on the couch to be tattooed.
Turned out fine, by the way.
Bacchanal
When i was in Spain in 2007, i was invited to a "bacchanal". I was excited to see reenactments of Greek mythology, and was slightly disappointed to learn that, instead, it was just an insane party on the outskirts of town in an abandoned warehouse. (Man, i'm a nerd.) However, the warehouse was sort of decorated inside with fake grapevines, and i'm pretty sure Bacchus would have been thrilled to attend this shindig. I was going with two girls i had met the day before, the cousins of the woman i was staying with. They spoke very little English, and i spoke very little Spanish. Also, i couldn't remember their names. I think one of them was Laura? No, that was their friend.
We stopped on our way to buy two huge bottles of rum and two 2-liter bottles of Coke.
Throughout the evening, we drank all of what we had, bought some beers, and also shared whiskey and coke with strangers. My companions smoked some weed and offered it to me. (I declined.) Laura also did a few lines of coke in a van. She spent much of the rest of the evening (actually, by then it was early morning) asking me in broken English if i was mad at her for doing hard drugs.
At around 7:30 am, we got a cab back to their apartment and slept for a few hours.
Senior Week
When i was twelve, my cousin Lynne (thirteen at the time) was about to move to Utah. So our grandmother took us, along with Agelseb (12) and our friend Renee (13), to the beach. It was senior week, so the whole town was crowded with drunk and/or high teenagers hooking up on every available flat surface. Most of them were at least eighteen (or sixteen, with fake IDs), but several were older. And then there was us.
Our grandmother let us go out at night alone, as long as we didn't wander out of sight of the hotel. Lots of drunk/high boys tried to pick us up, but Agelseb's shrill declarations that we were twelve kept us (relatively) safe from harassment. We were just lucky that we didn't encounter anyone drunk and/or sketchy enough to risk jailbait.
Agelseb nearly gave our addresses and names to some guys with a video camera, though.
Theo
One time, i hooked up with a friend of mine while another friend slept on the floor next to the bed we were using. Yeah, that was gross.
Barnes and Noble
One time, my sister was visiting me at college. My boyfriend-at-the-time and i took her to B&N, because she and i both had Christmas gift cards to spend. Since none of us had a car, and the bus didn't go where we needed it to, we walked. About three and a half miles. In the dark. Next to and across three-lane highways. Without a map.
Redneck Roller Coaster
When i was seventeen, my friends Agelseb and "Fay" and i decided to have an adventure. The back roads are long and winding, and when you go around them fast it is VERY DANGEROUS. And really really fun.
But we were the good kids, so we always drove safely on those roads.
But Fay was about to start college, and i was about to go to Europe, and when i got back Agelseb and i would be starting college, and we figured that this was our last chance to do something young and reckless. In retrospect, we were wrong (but almost right, since we almost died). As i have since discovered, life is full of chances for dumb adventures.
We were driving far too fast around a bend when Fay lost control of the car. We were skidding toward someone's living room window when she yanked the wheel and sent us skidding toward the ditch and trees. Suddenly, we were safely on the road and the car was still. We still don't know how we survived. I still haven't told my parents.
Once, when i was really little (like 4 or 5), my family went camping. Our particular campsite was a little removed from the bathrooms, which were on the other side of a little creek. One day, i needed to go to the bathroom. No one else needed to, so i decided to go alone.
Have i mentioned that i have a really terrible sense of direction?
Several hours later, i was wandering on the OTHER SIDE OF THE CAMPGROUND, crying and alone, and with (i was little, okay?) dampened drawers. A lady in a car stopped and asked if she could help me. I got in her car, and she took me to the bathroom. When i got out, my mom was there.
Tattoo
When i decided to get my second tattoo, one of my downstairs neighbors recommended a friend of his. My roommates and i drove to a slightly ghetto neighborhood and met the guy at his house. He explained that, while he was fully licensed to tattoo, his parlor was temporarily closed for a board of health violation. Apparently, the piercing guy was under investigation for performing a procedure he was not licensed for. According to my roommate's friend, the piercing guy was fully licensed, but the bitch at the board of health had it in for them. So he took us into the back room of his house, where i laid on the couch to be tattooed.
Turned out fine, by the way.
Bacchanal
When i was in Spain in 2007, i was invited to a "bacchanal". I was excited to see reenactments of Greek mythology, and was slightly disappointed to learn that, instead, it was just an insane party on the outskirts of town in an abandoned warehouse. (Man, i'm a nerd.) However, the warehouse was sort of decorated inside with fake grapevines, and i'm pretty sure Bacchus would have been thrilled to attend this shindig. I was going with two girls i had met the day before, the cousins of the woman i was staying with. They spoke very little English, and i spoke very little Spanish. Also, i couldn't remember their names. I think one of them was Laura? No, that was their friend.
We stopped on our way to buy two huge bottles of rum and two 2-liter bottles of Coke.
Throughout the evening, we drank all of what we had, bought some beers, and also shared whiskey and coke with strangers. My companions smoked some weed and offered it to me. (I declined.) Laura also did a few lines of coke in a van. She spent much of the rest of the evening (actually, by then it was early morning) asking me in broken English if i was mad at her for doing hard drugs.
At around 7:30 am, we got a cab back to their apartment and slept for a few hours.
Senior Week
When i was twelve, my cousin Lynne (thirteen at the time) was about to move to Utah. So our grandmother took us, along with Agelseb (12) and our friend Renee (13), to the beach. It was senior week, so the whole town was crowded with drunk and/or high teenagers hooking up on every available flat surface. Most of them were at least eighteen (or sixteen, with fake IDs), but several were older. And then there was us.
Our grandmother let us go out at night alone, as long as we didn't wander out of sight of the hotel. Lots of drunk/high boys tried to pick us up, but Agelseb's shrill declarations that we were twelve kept us (relatively) safe from harassment. We were just lucky that we didn't encounter anyone drunk and/or sketchy enough to risk jailbait.
Agelseb nearly gave our addresses and names to some guys with a video camera, though.
Theo
One time, i hooked up with a friend of mine while another friend slept on the floor next to the bed we were using. Yeah, that was gross.
Barnes and Noble
One time, my sister was visiting me at college. My boyfriend-at-the-time and i took her to B&N, because she and i both had Christmas gift cards to spend. Since none of us had a car, and the bus didn't go where we needed it to, we walked. About three and a half miles. In the dark. Next to and across three-lane highways. Without a map.
Redneck Roller Coaster
When i was seventeen, my friends Agelseb and "Fay" and i decided to have an adventure. The back roads are long and winding, and when you go around them fast it is VERY DANGEROUS. And really really fun.
But we were the good kids, so we always drove safely on those roads.
But Fay was about to start college, and i was about to go to Europe, and when i got back Agelseb and i would be starting college, and we figured that this was our last chance to do something young and reckless. In retrospect, we were wrong (but almost right, since we almost died). As i have since discovered, life is full of chances for dumb adventures.
We were driving far too fast around a bend when Fay lost control of the car. We were skidding toward someone's living room window when she yanked the wheel and sent us skidding toward the ditch and trees. Suddenly, we were safely on the road and the car was still. We still don't know how we survived. I still haven't told my parents.
Friday, December 16, 2011
Overheard in the Office 6
"When I went to Messiah for homecoming, I accidentally broke this girl's nose. And apparently, to her that said, 'I love you'. So she's been stalking me ever since."
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Other, Not Less
Settling does not necessarily mean settling for less. Sometimes it means settling for something else.
Let's say that you had spaghetti for lunch. Now you are at dinner with some friends, and you are trying to decide between chicken Parmesan with ziti and chicken fettuccine alfredo. Assuming that both dishes cost the same and have the same calorie counts and nutritional value, which one do you pick? You really want the chicken parm, but you talk yourself into the alfredo simply because you had spaghetti for lunch and you feel like you should have something other than marinara sauce.
This is settling. Not because the chicken parm is objectively, inherently better than the alfredo, but because the parm is what you want.
I have a friend, "Morgan", who is really interested in this guy, "Cal". They dated in college, and after breaking up became best friends. For years, Cal has been in love with Morgan, and in the last few months she has started to fall for him as well. But the last time that they broke up, Morgan's mother attempted to comfort her by saying, "Well, at least now you won't have to worry about having ugly kids." Now Morgan worries about what people might say when they see them together. She worries about the judgement and derision of their friends. She thinks he's attractive, but she worries that others won't. And she worries that her mother will worry about having ugly grandchildren.
Morgan loves Cal, but she is trying to talk herself out of the relationship because she thinks it will be settling. The truth? Choosing anyone but Cal would be settling. Cal is a great guy, and she wants to be with him.
Sometimes we talk ourselves out of our choices because we think that they look like they could be better. We think that we should have a different job because the one we have now doesn't pay very well. Never mind that we are living our dreams. We think that we should be dating a different person because the one we are with is not very glamorous. Never mind that they are the love of our lives. We think that we should choose a different option on the menu because we've had marinara sauce three times this week already. Never mind that marinara is our favorite.
We settle all the time, but not always for less. More often than not, what we are settling for is simply something other than what we really want.
Let's say that you had spaghetti for lunch. Now you are at dinner with some friends, and you are trying to decide between chicken Parmesan with ziti and chicken fettuccine alfredo. Assuming that both dishes cost the same and have the same calorie counts and nutritional value, which one do you pick? You really want the chicken parm, but you talk yourself into the alfredo simply because you had spaghetti for lunch and you feel like you should have something other than marinara sauce.
This is settling. Not because the chicken parm is objectively, inherently better than the alfredo, but because the parm is what you want.
I have a friend, "Morgan", who is really interested in this guy, "Cal". They dated in college, and after breaking up became best friends. For years, Cal has been in love with Morgan, and in the last few months she has started to fall for him as well. But the last time that they broke up, Morgan's mother attempted to comfort her by saying, "Well, at least now you won't have to worry about having ugly kids." Now Morgan worries about what people might say when they see them together. She worries about the judgement and derision of their friends. She thinks he's attractive, but she worries that others won't. And she worries that her mother will worry about having ugly grandchildren.
Morgan loves Cal, but she is trying to talk herself out of the relationship because she thinks it will be settling. The truth? Choosing anyone but Cal would be settling. Cal is a great guy, and she wants to be with him.
Sometimes we talk ourselves out of our choices because we think that they look like they could be better. We think that we should have a different job because the one we have now doesn't pay very well. Never mind that we are living our dreams. We think that we should be dating a different person because the one we are with is not very glamorous. Never mind that they are the love of our lives. We think that we should choose a different option on the menu because we've had marinara sauce three times this week already. Never mind that marinara is our favorite.
We settle all the time, but not always for less. More often than not, what we are settling for is simply something other than what we really want.
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Prostitots
You know what i'm talking about. Those little tween girls (though i've seen them as young as four years old) who wear skin-tight camisoles with flouncy mini-skirts. The girls who walk around in groups of 3-6, wearing booty shorts with words on their asses.
Prostitots: little whores in training.
When did little girls stop wearing awkward overall/dress things (jumpers? is that what they were called?) with t-shirts underneath? When did it become okay for a fourteen-year-old to sport multiple piercings and highlights? When did children become hyper-sexualized?
I read somewhere once that teenagers are a fairly recent phenomenon created by cultural shifts. It used to be that you were either a child or an adult. Then, suddenly, there was this whole new category: young people who wore their own fashions and listened to their own music and used their own slang. Teenagers, who still needed to ask Mom and Dad's permission to borrow the car or go out with friends or buy things, but disdained the company of "kids". They were their own sub-category of humanity, and they were here to stay.
But lately, it seems to me that we are moving back into two categories. Childhood seems to be disappearing. Even baby shoes, absurdly cute in their tininess, are no longer available only in simple primary colors. Now you can get baby Converse sneakers, skull-emblazoned slip-ons, and even shiny silver baby Uggs. I know adults who shop in the kid's department, not because they have childish taste in clothing, but because children's clothes look like what adults are wearing.
I remember wearing some truly hideous clothes as a child and LOVING them. I remember long-sleeved shirts with ruffled hems, stirrup-pants, and a hot pink nightgown decorated with rainbow colored envelopes. I remember a bowl cut, disastrous bangs, and hair that reached all the way to my (decently covered by loose-fitting, high-waisted jeans) behind.
I also remember being thirteen, having my first job, and being able for the first time to buy my own clothes. I remember my first-ever pair of hip-hugger jeans and how proud i was that i had picked them out and paid for them all on my own. I remember plucking my own eyebrows for the first time, picking out my own haircut, and learning to put on makeup.
These were all important developmental moments for me. These days, moments like that happen almost as soon as a child is able to walk. Sometimes before, when a parent thinks that her daughter is cute in a mini-skirt.
She's not cute. She's horrifying.
Let your kids be kids. Because when you don't, we end up with twenty-two year old women who want to wear Disney princess wedding gowns and can't leave the house unless something they are wearing sparkles. And that is almost as embarrassing to see as a fourteen-year-old with a "My Boyfriend Thinks I'm Studying" t-shirt.
Prostitots: little whores in training.
When did little girls stop wearing awkward overall/dress things (jumpers? is that what they were called?) with t-shirts underneath? When did it become okay for a fourteen-year-old to sport multiple piercings and highlights? When did children become hyper-sexualized?
I read somewhere once that teenagers are a fairly recent phenomenon created by cultural shifts. It used to be that you were either a child or an adult. Then, suddenly, there was this whole new category: young people who wore their own fashions and listened to their own music and used their own slang. Teenagers, who still needed to ask Mom and Dad's permission to borrow the car or go out with friends or buy things, but disdained the company of "kids". They were their own sub-category of humanity, and they were here to stay.
But lately, it seems to me that we are moving back into two categories. Childhood seems to be disappearing. Even baby shoes, absurdly cute in their tininess, are no longer available only in simple primary colors. Now you can get baby Converse sneakers, skull-emblazoned slip-ons, and even shiny silver baby Uggs. I know adults who shop in the kid's department, not because they have childish taste in clothing, but because children's clothes look like what adults are wearing.
I remember wearing some truly hideous clothes as a child and LOVING them. I remember long-sleeved shirts with ruffled hems, stirrup-pants, and a hot pink nightgown decorated with rainbow colored envelopes. I remember a bowl cut, disastrous bangs, and hair that reached all the way to my (decently covered by loose-fitting, high-waisted jeans) behind.
I also remember being thirteen, having my first job, and being able for the first time to buy my own clothes. I remember my first-ever pair of hip-hugger jeans and how proud i was that i had picked them out and paid for them all on my own. I remember plucking my own eyebrows for the first time, picking out my own haircut, and learning to put on makeup.
These were all important developmental moments for me. These days, moments like that happen almost as soon as a child is able to walk. Sometimes before, when a parent thinks that her daughter is cute in a mini-skirt.
She's not cute. She's horrifying.
Let your kids be kids. Because when you don't, we end up with twenty-two year old women who want to wear Disney princess wedding gowns and can't leave the house unless something they are wearing sparkles. And that is almost as embarrassing to see as a fourteen-year-old with a "My Boyfriend Thinks I'm Studying" t-shirt.
Monday, June 20, 2011
Why I'm Glad to Follow The World's Worst Blueprint
Disclaimer 1: I believe in the power and infallibility (so far as that goes -- a topic for another post) of the Christian Bible. I believe that it is the holy and inspired Word of God, and that it provides invaluable guidance for a righteous life. I do not wish to disrespect its importance in my life or in the lives of others, nor do i want to suggest that the Bible is irrelevant to modern society. I do, however, want to take a realistic look at what "infallible" means, what "guidance" means, and what "interpretation" means, in the context of Scripture and holiness. And i want to do so in a lighthearted manner. So please do not be offended by anything that follows.
Disclaimer 2: I am not a theologian. I am not a minister. I am not a philosopher. I have no training in interpreting Scripture. I have not read the Bible in the original Hebrew, Aramaic, or Greek (or even in Latin). I have attended church (including Sunday school, Vacation Bible School, Caravan, Bible Quizzing, Christian youth camps and retreats, worship team, choir, youth group events, and chapel twice a week for four years) ever since i was born. I went to a Christian school for four years, where in addition to the aforementioned chapel services i took two religion courses (Biblical History and Literature and Christian Tradition), one philosophy course (Contemporary Questions, an honor's-level philosophy seminar), and one ethics course (Living Issues). All of my professors were Christians and incorporated faith into their lectures, and i also took a couple of elective courses that addressed issues of faith (Science and Religion and Psychology of Religion). While all of this has given me a large body of knowledge, experience, and information, i do not have any faith-related degrees. I am not an expert in any of the things i am about to say. (But it's the internet, so who cares?)
Rachel Held Evans, author of Evolving in Monkeytown and blogger extraordinaire,
visited my school a few months ago. She had dinner with the Honor's society, gave a talk about being a writer in a largely virtual world, and spoke in chapel. Her current project is researching and writing about the idea of Biblical womanhood, a topic i will allow you to research on your own, if you are so inclined. I'm not going to do your work for you. I gave you a link to her site already.
In chapel, Rachel was talking about this concept of Biblical womanhood, and the idea espoused by many that the Bible contains blueprints for our behavior. "Just read the Scriptures," they say. "It's all there, very clear. Just do as the Bible says and you'll be fine." The problems with this philosophy are numerous, and Rachel addressed a few of them, but the thing that really stuck with me was what she said about the "blueprint" analogy.
"With a really good blueprint, there is no need to talk to the designer," she said. The better the blueprint, the less need for the contractor to ever have anything to do with the architect. It's only a poor architect who has to communicate with the builders.
This leaves us with three possible conclusions: 1) God is the world's worst architect, and we need to consult Him constantly on His design, 2) God is the world's best architect and we never need to talk to Him at all, 3) God is a really great architect, and if His purpose were to build a house we'd never need to talk to Him at all, but the Bible is not meant to be a blueprint, and God wants to talk to us constantly, about everything.
The Bible is great. It has a lot of commands directly from God about how we should live our lives. It has a lot of general advice about how to get along with people, grow spiritually, and avoid immorality. It has some incredible stories, some beautiful poetry, and some history (which, while not "accurate" according to modern Western definitions of historical accuracy, is nevertheless true and important to the world and to faith). But it is not a blueprint. It does not contain clear-cut, diamond-hard instructions for how we should live our lives.
While we're at it, let's take a moment to examine the claim of Biblical inerrancy. Where, exactly, does this idea come from? From the Bible. That's right: we believe that the Bible is inerrant because the Bible says it is. That's like if i went around saying, "I am always right about everything. Therefore, the statement i just made is correct. Therefore, i am always right about everything." That's not a convincing argument.
The Bible is very clear about a lot of things. But most of it, while it may have been inspired/dictated/based on things said or done by God, was actually written by people. We won't get into the massive game of telephone involved in the transcription, copying, translation, transliteration, editing, editorializing, and interpreting of Scripture over the last several thousand years (again, a topic for another day). I will say this: I believe that God often talks to people pretty directly. I know He's talked to me. But i don't know that what God says to one person in one context about one situation is necessarily true or right for every person in every context for every situation. It is helpful to see what God has said. It's like how lawyers and judges read old cases and rulings to research precedence. But at the end of the day, every case is unique, and while history may give you a sense of context and background, the final call always comes down to you (or you and God, if we're talking about faith and not legal proceedings).
This is what i know for sure: Salvation does not happen in a moment. It is an ongoing process. We have to keep searching for God's will in our lives, and keep checking in with Him to make sure we're in a right relationship. If we're really looking for God, we will find Him. God knows the difference between someone who is looking for Him and someone who is merely looking for the right answer.
Here is something else i know for sure: everything that God has ever told us to do, all of the law, the prophets, the commandments, the parables, everything, can be summed up in these words:
'And you shall love the LORD your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your mind, and with all your strength.' This is the first commandment. And the second, like it, is this: 'You shall love your neighbor as yourself.' There is no other commandment greater than these. -- Mark 12:30-31
These words came from Jesus. Even allowing for issues with transcription, translation, etc, they're pretty clear: Look for God and you will find Him, and love God and other people. All theology, all philosophy, all teachings and sermons and scriptures and everything else are simply footnotes to this.
I think the Bible is great. I think it has some stunning literature, some fascinating history, some important moral lessons, and some holy commandments from God Himself. But i don't think it should be our only resource for faith guidance. I don't even think it should be our first resource. I think our first resource should be the influence of the Holy Spirit. God speaks to our hearts directly, and leads us in the way He desires. Sometimes, sure, the path gets a little murky, and sometimes we need clarification, further instruction, assurance that things will turn out okay, or backup to advise a friend. The Bible comes in here, to support and clarify the things that the Holy Spirit has told us. But when we are facing a crisis of faith, or trying to make a major decision, or simply trying to deepen the roots of our souls, i think our first step has to be prayer. Talk to God. Listen to the Holy Spirit. Bask in the presence of Jesus. And then, for further clarification, consult the footnotes.
Disclaimer 2: I am not a theologian. I am not a minister. I am not a philosopher. I have no training in interpreting Scripture. I have not read the Bible in the original Hebrew, Aramaic, or Greek (or even in Latin). I have attended church (including Sunday school, Vacation Bible School, Caravan, Bible Quizzing, Christian youth camps and retreats, worship team, choir, youth group events, and chapel twice a week for four years) ever since i was born. I went to a Christian school for four years, where in addition to the aforementioned chapel services i took two religion courses (Biblical History and Literature and Christian Tradition), one philosophy course (Contemporary Questions, an honor's-level philosophy seminar), and one ethics course (Living Issues). All of my professors were Christians and incorporated faith into their lectures, and i also took a couple of elective courses that addressed issues of faith (Science and Religion and Psychology of Religion). While all of this has given me a large body of knowledge, experience, and information, i do not have any faith-related degrees. I am not an expert in any of the things i am about to say. (But it's the internet, so who cares?)
Rachel Held Evans, author of Evolving in Monkeytown and blogger extraordinaire,
visited my school a few months ago. She had dinner with the Honor's society, gave a talk about being a writer in a largely virtual world, and spoke in chapel. Her current project is researching and writing about the idea of Biblical womanhood, a topic i will allow you to research on your own, if you are so inclined. I'm not going to do your work for you. I gave you a link to her site already.In chapel, Rachel was talking about this concept of Biblical womanhood, and the idea espoused by many that the Bible contains blueprints for our behavior. "Just read the Scriptures," they say. "It's all there, very clear. Just do as the Bible says and you'll be fine." The problems with this philosophy are numerous, and Rachel addressed a few of them, but the thing that really stuck with me was what she said about the "blueprint" analogy.
"With a really good blueprint, there is no need to talk to the designer," she said. The better the blueprint, the less need for the contractor to ever have anything to do with the architect. It's only a poor architect who has to communicate with the builders.
This leaves us with three possible conclusions: 1) God is the world's worst architect, and we need to consult Him constantly on His design, 2) God is the world's best architect and we never need to talk to Him at all, 3) God is a really great architect, and if His purpose were to build a house we'd never need to talk to Him at all, but the Bible is not meant to be a blueprint, and God wants to talk to us constantly, about everything.
The Bible is great. It has a lot of commands directly from God about how we should live our lives. It has a lot of general advice about how to get along with people, grow spiritually, and avoid immorality. It has some incredible stories, some beautiful poetry, and some history (which, while not "accurate" according to modern Western definitions of historical accuracy, is nevertheless true and important to the world and to faith). But it is not a blueprint. It does not contain clear-cut, diamond-hard instructions for how we should live our lives.
While we're at it, let's take a moment to examine the claim of Biblical inerrancy. Where, exactly, does this idea come from? From the Bible. That's right: we believe that the Bible is inerrant because the Bible says it is. That's like if i went around saying, "I am always right about everything. Therefore, the statement i just made is correct. Therefore, i am always right about everything." That's not a convincing argument.
The Bible is very clear about a lot of things. But most of it, while it may have been inspired/dictated/based on things said or done by God, was actually written by people. We won't get into the massive game of telephone involved in the transcription, copying, translation, transliteration, editing, editorializing, and interpreting of Scripture over the last several thousand years (again, a topic for another day). I will say this: I believe that God often talks to people pretty directly. I know He's talked to me. But i don't know that what God says to one person in one context about one situation is necessarily true or right for every person in every context for every situation. It is helpful to see what God has said. It's like how lawyers and judges read old cases and rulings to research precedence. But at the end of the day, every case is unique, and while history may give you a sense of context and background, the final call always comes down to you (or you and God, if we're talking about faith and not legal proceedings).
This is what i know for sure: Salvation does not happen in a moment. It is an ongoing process. We have to keep searching for God's will in our lives, and keep checking in with Him to make sure we're in a right relationship. If we're really looking for God, we will find Him. God knows the difference between someone who is looking for Him and someone who is merely looking for the right answer.
Here is something else i know for sure: everything that God has ever told us to do, all of the law, the prophets, the commandments, the parables, everything, can be summed up in these words:
'And you shall love the LORD your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your mind, and with all your strength.' This is the first commandment. And the second, like it, is this: 'You shall love your neighbor as yourself.' There is no other commandment greater than these. -- Mark 12:30-31
These words came from Jesus. Even allowing for issues with transcription, translation, etc, they're pretty clear: Look for God and you will find Him, and love God and other people. All theology, all philosophy, all teachings and sermons and scriptures and everything else are simply footnotes to this.
I think the Bible is great. I think it has some stunning literature, some fascinating history, some important moral lessons, and some holy commandments from God Himself. But i don't think it should be our only resource for faith guidance. I don't even think it should be our first resource. I think our first resource should be the influence of the Holy Spirit. God speaks to our hearts directly, and leads us in the way He desires. Sometimes, sure, the path gets a little murky, and sometimes we need clarification, further instruction, assurance that things will turn out okay, or backup to advise a friend. The Bible comes in here, to support and clarify the things that the Holy Spirit has told us. But when we are facing a crisis of faith, or trying to make a major decision, or simply trying to deepen the roots of our souls, i think our first step has to be prayer. Talk to God. Listen to the Holy Spirit. Bask in the presence of Jesus. And then, for further clarification, consult the footnotes.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Flintstone Vitamins: Why Your Kid Isn't Going to College
It all starts there, with the flavored, chewy, gummy candy vitamins. I can understand making them chewable, since many small children are not able to swallow a pill. But why must they also be delicious? And then we have the bubble-gum flavored cough syrup, the chocolatey drinks to replace actual nutritious food, and a variety of websites devoted to helping parents feed their children.
Seriously?
When i was a kid, we had a rule: You have to try everything once. If you don't like it, you don't have to finish it, and you never have to try it again. But you have to try it. Our parents didn't make a big deal about it, and if we didn't like it, they stuck to their word: we didn't have to eat it. But we had to have some of every food group at least once a day. They were diligent and creative about finding fresh fruits and veggies that we liked, and they were careful to set a good example by eating lots of healthy, delicious foods.
I remember being appalled and a little embarrassed when the neighbor's kid threw a temper tantrum when asked to eat pizza with "green stuff" on it. (The "green stuff" was oregano.) Her parents picked off the dozen or so tiny flakes and then calmed her down so that she could eat her dinner. When my cousin was little, she didn't like cheese. So at a restaurant, when her parents ordered pizza for her, they were careful to say, "She wants plain, regular pizza," which of course meant cheese. My cousin never knew the difference.
If your kid is ten and doesn't want to eat broccoli, that's one thing. You can make him a different vegetable, or tell her to eat a fruit instead. Or, as many crafty parents have suggested, you can simply chop the vegetables finely or puree them and then hide them in spaghetti sauce or a casserole and the kid will never know the difference.
But if we are talking about a three-year-old, make them eat their damned vegetables. You don't have to yell, you don't have to cry, you don't have to threaten or bribe. But you are the parent, and if your kid doesn't respect you when you ask them to eat one bite of carrots, you'd better never let them have your car keys.
If your child refuses to take cough syrup and you give them liquid bubblegum, they have learned that all difficulties in life can be passed over in favor of something delicious. If you then reinforce this lesson with gummy vitamins and chocolate milk meal replacement shakes, your kid is never going to college.
My sister texted me this morning to tell me that she will be taking Honor's English next year. For her class, she is required to read three books. And she gets to pick the books.
I don't know if there is a list that they have to choose from. But i've seen these book lists (even the ones for private schools), and while they do contain a number of classic texts, they also tend to include pop-culture favorites. Now, don't get me wrong: i love Harry Potter
and Ella Enchanted
as much as the next nerd. But i am under no illusions as to their fitness for a school curriculum. I think that kids should be required to read a certain amount of the really difficult stuff and taught to appreciate it. I think they should be encouraged to find books that they love and to read them incessantly (especially since this will only make it easier for them to read the hard stuff). But if a student doesn't want to read Shakespeare
, you can't substitute Twilight and call it an education just because Stephanie Meyer makes Shakespeare references.
But this is what your students will expect from you, because when they were six and didn't want to eat spinach, Mom gave them chocolate milk and gummy cartoon characters.
If our parents and teachers can't be adults and enforce certain restrictions and requirements, how can we expect the children in their care to learn to be adults and to set their own guidelines? Having someone else set boundaries for them teaches children self-control, something they will badly need in college and beyond.
Guess what: not everything tastes like candy. Not everything is as much fun to read as the Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants (which, by the way, i was surprised to discover was pretty great). But you still have to eat your peas, and you still have to read Shakespeare. Get over it.
Seriously?
When i was a kid, we had a rule: You have to try everything once. If you don't like it, you don't have to finish it, and you never have to try it again. But you have to try it. Our parents didn't make a big deal about it, and if we didn't like it, they stuck to their word: we didn't have to eat it. But we had to have some of every food group at least once a day. They were diligent and creative about finding fresh fruits and veggies that we liked, and they were careful to set a good example by eating lots of healthy, delicious foods.
I remember being appalled and a little embarrassed when the neighbor's kid threw a temper tantrum when asked to eat pizza with "green stuff" on it. (The "green stuff" was oregano.) Her parents picked off the dozen or so tiny flakes and then calmed her down so that she could eat her dinner. When my cousin was little, she didn't like cheese. So at a restaurant, when her parents ordered pizza for her, they were careful to say, "She wants plain, regular pizza," which of course meant cheese. My cousin never knew the difference.
If your kid is ten and doesn't want to eat broccoli, that's one thing. You can make him a different vegetable, or tell her to eat a fruit instead. Or, as many crafty parents have suggested, you can simply chop the vegetables finely or puree them and then hide them in spaghetti sauce or a casserole and the kid will never know the difference.
But if we are talking about a three-year-old, make them eat their damned vegetables. You don't have to yell, you don't have to cry, you don't have to threaten or bribe. But you are the parent, and if your kid doesn't respect you when you ask them to eat one bite of carrots, you'd better never let them have your car keys.
If your child refuses to take cough syrup and you give them liquid bubblegum, they have learned that all difficulties in life can be passed over in favor of something delicious. If you then reinforce this lesson with gummy vitamins and chocolate milk meal replacement shakes, your kid is never going to college.
My sister texted me this morning to tell me that she will be taking Honor's English next year. For her class, she is required to read three books. And she gets to pick the books.
I don't know if there is a list that they have to choose from. But i've seen these book lists (even the ones for private schools), and while they do contain a number of classic texts, they also tend to include pop-culture favorites. Now, don't get me wrong: i love Harry Potter
and Ella Enchanted as much as the next nerd. But i am under no illusions as to their fitness for a school curriculum. I think that kids should be required to read a certain amount of the really difficult stuff and taught to appreciate it. I think they should be encouraged to find books that they love and to read them incessantly (especially since this will only make it easier for them to read the hard stuff). But if a student doesn't want to read Shakespeare, you can't substitute Twilight and call it an education just because Stephanie Meyer makes Shakespeare references. But this is what your students will expect from you, because when they were six and didn't want to eat spinach, Mom gave them chocolate milk and gummy cartoon characters.If our parents and teachers can't be adults and enforce certain restrictions and requirements, how can we expect the children in their care to learn to be adults and to set their own guidelines? Having someone else set boundaries for them teaches children self-control, something they will badly need in college and beyond.
Guess what: not everything tastes like candy. Not everything is as much fun to read as the Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants (which, by the way, i was surprised to discover was pretty great). But you still have to eat your peas, and you still have to read Shakespeare. Get over it.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
never settle
My new tattoo is about a week old on my skin, and about four years old in my head.
Some time during my freshman year of college, i think around spring break, my mom and i had a conversation about boys. I don't remember anything about this conversation except that it concluded with her saying, "Don't ever settle."
At that time, i was thinking about getting a tattoo, but couldn't decide what i wanted. I would draw doodles (usually birds) or write slogans on my skin with Sharpies (usually on my arms, because they were easiest), trying out colors and sizes and designs, but nothing seemed quite right. I tried a few variations of "never settle", but somehow it didn't quite fit. I eventually settled on the swallow tattoo that was the subject of my last post, and moved on.
I wasn't planning to get another tattoo. I still had some ideas that i liked, but nothing that seemed quite as right as the swallow.
I kept on thinking about the idea of settling, though. I thought about what it meant to settle, and what kinds of situations i had settled in before. I thought about settling romantically, academically, professionally, and spiritually.
I thought about boys i had dated and why, and determined that i would not settle for anything other than what i wanted or deserved ever again. And then i settled. Twice in a row.
I thought about classes and assignments where i should have done better but instead chose to slack off, and determined that i would never again settle for less than what i was capable of. And then i slacked off. In too many classes to mention.
I thought about the job i really wanted and what i would have to do to get it, and determined that i would let nothing get in my way. And then -- well, you can probably guess where this is going.
I spent the first three years of college settling in pretty much every area of my life. I looked for "good enough", instead of holding out for "best". Understand, i'm not trying to disparage the people in my life or the experiences i had or the places i worked. I'm just saying that anything that isn't what you really want is settling, even if it is objectively "better" than your heart's desire. A job that pays a million dollars an hour is settling, if what you really want to do is teach public school. Marrying the world's most perfect man is settling, if you're not really in love with him. Maintaining a perfect 4.0 GPA through college is settling, if you're not passionate about your studies and don't feel that you're getting a full and well-rounded experience.
All of this reflection and determination and settling culminated in the relationship with Casey, where i hung on for over a year because i thought that this was the best thing i could expect. My friend "Ben" argued with me, saying, "Right now, you think you're eating steak. But actually, it's cat food. And you think it's delicious, because you've never had steak before. But one day, you'll have real steak, and you'll be like, 'Why was I eating this shit for so long?'" Eventually, finally, i ended things with Casey, and promptly made the catastrophically bad decision to give my virginity to Theo. More settling. Like i mentioned in the earlier post, i had not had the sex that God wanted for me. I had settled for something less.
My best friend "Sue" and i actually made similar bad decisions on the same night, and talked about it quite a lot over the next few weeks. Although the decisions themselves were similar, the histories leading up to those decisions were very different. However, we were both settling. Sue, knowing nothing of the phrase from my mom that was still bouncing around in the back of my head, said to me, "Let's make a pact. You and i have spent the last three years settling for less than what we want and deserve. Let's make this year different. I think our slogan for 2010-2011 should be 'never settle'."
Of course, i agreed.
A few weeks later, i was reading some cheap celebrity magazine. I don't remember which one, but probably US Weekly. Don't judge. They had a section on tattoo placement, and explained that a rib cage tattoo is extremely painful and extremely significant. Part of the significance comes from the pain; if it is really worth getting, it's worth suffering for. Additionally, because the ribs protect your heart and lungs, a tattoo there is basically sheilding the center of your life force. Every heartbeat and every breath will reinforce the message inked forever on your skin. Plus, it's kind of an intimate area, so if someone is going to be seeing or touching it, it's going to be someone who is very important and special to you. I remember curling my arm instinctively around myself, just below my breasts, and inadvertently flashing back to the last person who had touched me intimately (Theo). I resolved again that the next person to touch me there would not be someone i was settling for.
And another week after that, i was sitting in chapel. I don't remember what the message was, only that it was really speaking to me in a lot of ways. I think it was something about being all that you can be. At one point, what the speaker said was so poignant and appropriate to the moment that Sue texted me (yes, we text in chapel) and said, "Never settle!"
At that moment, i felt God sit next to me and whisper, "That's going to be your next tattoo."
I whispered back, "God, i'm not getting another tattoo. Remember? I only ever wanted this one."
And He looked at me and whispered, "Really? You're going to argue with ME? This is going to be your next tattoo."
And i whispered, "Yeah, but . . . Oh. Yeah. Okay."
It took a few months until i had the ready cash for it, but now i have this tattoo forever. The text was not a font that the guy had. It is my own handwriting. I liked the idea of inscribing those words on my flesh with my own hand (even though technically someone else did the actual inscribing).
This image, these words, this idea, i've been carrying with me for a long time. And now i will carry them with me forever.
Some time during my freshman year of college, i think around spring break, my mom and i had a conversation about boys. I don't remember anything about this conversation except that it concluded with her saying, "Don't ever settle."
At that time, i was thinking about getting a tattoo, but couldn't decide what i wanted. I would draw doodles (usually birds) or write slogans on my skin with Sharpies (usually on my arms, because they were easiest), trying out colors and sizes and designs, but nothing seemed quite right. I tried a few variations of "never settle", but somehow it didn't quite fit. I eventually settled on the swallow tattoo that was the subject of my last post, and moved on.
I wasn't planning to get another tattoo. I still had some ideas that i liked, but nothing that seemed quite as right as the swallow.
I kept on thinking about the idea of settling, though. I thought about what it meant to settle, and what kinds of situations i had settled in before. I thought about settling romantically, academically, professionally, and spiritually.
I thought about boys i had dated and why, and determined that i would not settle for anything other than what i wanted or deserved ever again. And then i settled. Twice in a row.
I thought about classes and assignments where i should have done better but instead chose to slack off, and determined that i would never again settle for less than what i was capable of. And then i slacked off. In too many classes to mention.
I thought about the job i really wanted and what i would have to do to get it, and determined that i would let nothing get in my way. And then -- well, you can probably guess where this is going.
I spent the first three years of college settling in pretty much every area of my life. I looked for "good enough", instead of holding out for "best". Understand, i'm not trying to disparage the people in my life or the experiences i had or the places i worked. I'm just saying that anything that isn't what you really want is settling, even if it is objectively "better" than your heart's desire. A job that pays a million dollars an hour is settling, if what you really want to do is teach public school. Marrying the world's most perfect man is settling, if you're not really in love with him. Maintaining a perfect 4.0 GPA through college is settling, if you're not passionate about your studies and don't feel that you're getting a full and well-rounded experience.
All of this reflection and determination and settling culminated in the relationship with Casey, where i hung on for over a year because i thought that this was the best thing i could expect. My friend "Ben" argued with me, saying, "Right now, you think you're eating steak. But actually, it's cat food. And you think it's delicious, because you've never had steak before. But one day, you'll have real steak, and you'll be like, 'Why was I eating this shit for so long?'" Eventually, finally, i ended things with Casey, and promptly made the catastrophically bad decision to give my virginity to Theo. More settling. Like i mentioned in the earlier post, i had not had the sex that God wanted for me. I had settled for something less.
My best friend "Sue" and i actually made similar bad decisions on the same night, and talked about it quite a lot over the next few weeks. Although the decisions themselves were similar, the histories leading up to those decisions were very different. However, we were both settling. Sue, knowing nothing of the phrase from my mom that was still bouncing around in the back of my head, said to me, "Let's make a pact. You and i have spent the last three years settling for less than what we want and deserve. Let's make this year different. I think our slogan for 2010-2011 should be 'never settle'."
Of course, i agreed.
A few weeks later, i was reading some cheap celebrity magazine. I don't remember which one, but probably US Weekly. Don't judge. They had a section on tattoo placement, and explained that a rib cage tattoo is extremely painful and extremely significant. Part of the significance comes from the pain; if it is really worth getting, it's worth suffering for. Additionally, because the ribs protect your heart and lungs, a tattoo there is basically sheilding the center of your life force. Every heartbeat and every breath will reinforce the message inked forever on your skin. Plus, it's kind of an intimate area, so if someone is going to be seeing or touching it, it's going to be someone who is very important and special to you. I remember curling my arm instinctively around myself, just below my breasts, and inadvertently flashing back to the last person who had touched me intimately (Theo). I resolved again that the next person to touch me there would not be someone i was settling for.
And another week after that, i was sitting in chapel. I don't remember what the message was, only that it was really speaking to me in a lot of ways. I think it was something about being all that you can be. At one point, what the speaker said was so poignant and appropriate to the moment that Sue texted me (yes, we text in chapel) and said, "Never settle!"
At that moment, i felt God sit next to me and whisper, "That's going to be your next tattoo."
I whispered back, "God, i'm not getting another tattoo. Remember? I only ever wanted this one."
And He looked at me and whispered, "Really? You're going to argue with ME? This is going to be your next tattoo."
And i whispered, "Yeah, but . . . Oh. Yeah. Okay."
It took a few months until i had the ready cash for it, but now i have this tattoo forever. The text was not a font that the guy had. It is my own handwriting. I liked the idea of inscribing those words on my flesh with my own hand (even though technically someone else did the actual inscribing).
This image, these words, this idea, i've been carrying with me for a long time. And now i will carry them with me forever.
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