20 randoms

HOPESandDREAMS: 30 Things: gave me this idea.

1. I used to ride horses at least once every week. I miss it a lot and am really sad I couldn't continue. My favorite was jumping.

2. I have developed an intense love for hokey movies. My favorite by far is Dead Alive, a Peter Jackson zombie movie that is said to be the bloodiest movie every (judging by the number of gallons of fake blood they used). Most recently we watched Hercules And The Moon Men.

3. I love Baby Einstein. My favorite is Baby Shakespeare. Especially when I'm not sober.

4. I was an alcoholic. For about a year. I once told JP that I drink to feel normal.

5. I rarely drink anymore. Getting drunk isn't as fun as it was, and the health risks aren't worth it.

6. I love hoodies. They're comforting to me and I wear them year round, sometimes even when it's hot out.

7. JP's nickname for me is Snowflake. He says it's because I'm unique. I think it's because the day he decided that was my nickname I was running around the TJ Maxx parking lot trying to catch one on my tongue.

8. I can say really, really dumb things. Like, "how many beers are in a six pack?" or, at night, "is it, like, dark outside?".

9. Bo Burnam is amazing. My favorite song of his is Catholic Rap. "Dear God, dear Lord, dear vague muscular man with a beard or a sword. Dear good all seeing being, my way or the highway yahweh, the blue balled anti-masturbator, the great all-loving faggot hater."

10. I read Cosmo every month even though I find it sexist.

11. JP and I want to start a business sometime in the next 10 years. We want to call it the Handy Hippie. We'd go around installing solar panels and windmills and generally greening up businesses and homes.

12. I thought becoming a mother would profoundly change my personality. It didn't. I wish it had. I figured I would be more assertive and strong, but I'm only that way when it comes to Willow, and sometimes not as much as I should be.

13. Joss Whedon is my hero. Buffy is my favorite TV show. Firefly is a close second. Dr. Horrible was the first time I realized I actually like musicals as long as they're not Rodgers and Hammerstein. The only thing he's done that I don't like is the Avengers (and the Buffy movie, but he wasn't really involved so I don't count that).

14. I was profoundly fucked up when I was younger. Yesterday I went through some of my old binders from freshman year of college and in almost every margin I'm putting myself down or drawing skeletal figures. Or razor blades. It's so sad.

15. When I was a kid and we were in the car, I would say bye to every object I saw. "Bye tree, bye car, bye people. . "

16. So many bad things have happened to me that when I think or talk about them sometimes I forget one or two. "Oh, yeah! I forgot that happened too."

17. The last few years are the first time I actually remember being happy. Especially since Willow was born.

18. I have read the Lord of the Rings series 9 times in one summer.

19. I love vacuuming when there's tiny pieces of crunchy stuff on the floor. Doesn't everyone? But I hate dealing with vacuum cords.

20. This Christmas, our tree topper was Bizarro with his flag upside down. . . Oh, god. I'm a nerdy hipster!

<3

live life loud

Life life loud, live it unapologetically. Life fiercely.
Take the moment; grab it by the neck and squeeze every ounce of enjoyment out of it.
Don't look around you and wonder what people will think. Don't let others opinions of your actions stop you.

Go ahead.
Twirl.
Head bang.
Sing the "Singing in the Rain" song in a downpour.
Hell, even twirl one of those ridiculous yellow umbrellas around. (You know you want to! Where would one buy a yellow umbrella, anyway?)

If we lived our lives wondering who's watching and what's running through their heads, our lives would be normal.
And who likes normal?

Normal is everyday; it's mundane. . . it's boring.

If it doesn't go against your morals and it wouldn't go against others (stumbling block) do what your heart demands.

I've been known to break into song in the middle of grocery stores. It drives my best friend crazy, but you know what? She's loosened up since I met her. The first time I did something like that near her I thought she was going to have an anurism. Thank God, she didn't, and now she kind of appreciates me for my crazy weirdness. I don't think she'd want me to be normal. I think she'd be bored.

Most of all, I'd be bored.

I was normal once. And, God, did I hate it.

Now? Now it's great. I can dance around the house in my underwear and my parents don't even notice anymore (unless it's a thong, then they notice). They almost expect me to say something silly. I swear there are these ultra-awkward silences that follow anything anyone says in my household. My theory: they're giving me time to respond.

Like after my dad said something about how it's not a "butt" it's a "rear end" and I told him "Fine then, would you please scootch your arse?"
Believe it or not- he laughed. The man laughed.
I don't think I've heard him laugh at anything but knock-knock jokes. Ever. Especially something "crude" like that. It was great. I actually felt like his daughter for once.
Once.

Live life loud. Make people notice. Whether your cause is the environment, how Bush was really a great president (shout out to my best friend) or like me, love, make yourself known. The world isn't changed by people who sit back and hope that someone else will say something they agree with on tv- it's changed by those who speak to their friends, their family and any general public who's there to witness the soap box.

Come on now, people. You aren't dead yet! Live like it. Sometimes I wonder if people in the church haven't been slipped a little sedative before walking in. I wonder if I'm the only one who disagrees with the pastor. I wonder if they believe in anything at all.

Most of all, I believe in a loving Jesus. No matter what religion or deity you believe in I'm sure that somewhere deep in your heart your wish is that Jesus does truly love you.

I met someone a couple months ago who has become one of my dearest friends. Her name is Emily. She smokes more pot than Bob Marley did, recently got her nipples pierced and is bisexual. Emily has an eating disorder and claims she hates Christians. They made fun of her in high school for being bi. She says she'd never want to be one of us.

You know what? Neither would I.

Emily believes in Jesus though. She tells me she reads the Bible and that she likes the Jesus she sees in there. She sees a contrast, though, between the one that's in the Bible and the one we preach and supposedly emulate.

She's absolutely right.

We've come so far, they say. Yeah, we have. In the wrong direction.

I'm not saying that Jesus would pat Emily on the back for liking girls and liking sex. I'm just saying that Jesus wouldn't make a girl cry, even if that girl sinned.

Everywhere in the Bible I see Jesus comforting, loving and healing. I don't see anyone with a right heart being turned away.

We've come a long way, baby. Now we turn people away at the doors, refusing them entrance into God's house because of how they look. What would God say?

If I ever start a church, I'm going to go find the "scum of the earth" and bring them in. Be they prostitutes, transvestites, gays, lesbians, televangelists that look like Barbie on speed, self-injurers, anorexics, murders, liars, cheats. They'd be part of Jesus' church too, if He started one here in the United States today. You know why? Because when He sent the invitations out to all the preachers and deacons and Episcopal priests they were all busy.

They were all working on their ticket to heaven. They were all wearing their golden crosses that just kept their neck weighed down and their eyes cast to the ground. They were too busy to come see the true Jesus, just like most of us Christians are too busy now.

So Jesus sent His servants out to the wayside to find guests for His party, didn't He? He got the homeless and the dirtiest. And I bet they had a blast. I would have given anything to go that party. Because it was real and honest.

I bet there was a lot of rejoicing going on there. A lot of healing. They probably never got around to the fattened calf.

Can you see Him? He's surrounded by people begging to be healed of their sorry sins and their ravaged hearts. And He's healing them all because they are broken.

Come on, people. Wake up. Jesus wouldn't hang out at our churches. He'd be down at the corner of 5th and Capitol at that abandoned Lutheran church drinking coffee with the homeless. He'd be drying the tears of a prostitute. I'm thinking He'd only step into our churches to tell us we're like the white-washed tombs. We might look nice on the outside, but inside- we're dead and rotting. We're stinky.

I don't wanna stink. Especially when I finally meet Jesus. I wanna smell good!

Philippians 4:18b

Your gifts are a soothing aroma, a sacrifice that God accepts and with which he is pleased.

How do you smell to Jesus? Minty fresh? A little B.O.?

Living life loud means standing up and being counted.

Let's live life loud, and let's release a good fragrance unto the Lord.

(When did I turn into a black preacher?)

I, for one, renounce Christianity completely. I don't want to be part of this social club. I want someone who heals hearts, and that's not the white Jesus with the beard I see as the head of today's churches.

I'm waiting for the Jesus who's dirty and ragged and who was bloodied for me.

Nope. I'm not a Christian. I'm just a lover of people.

Can I get an Amen?

hello kitty and narnia

I am restless.

The music was too vulgar, it pierced the night and it's stillness too eagerly, so I turned the dial to off.

Upstairs, my mother is snoring, or else I hope she is, because she doesn't like it when I am up this late writing.

I can't help it though. Sometimes sleep eludes me and forces me to do something about the thoughts that are keeping me awake.

So here I am.

When I was still debating sleep or creaky stairs, I had great thoughts of what I could write. Timeless, they were; shocking, radical, new, hopeful, full of something; anything.

But now it is just a brightly lit rectangle and words and the noises of typists. Clicking. Clicking away.

I wonder what famous people are doing right now, whether they're drunk or asleep, or laying in bed looking at the ceiling, like I was. I wonder if they think the same things I do, about the normal things, the ugly things even. Do they have as many secrets as people make it out to seem, or do they have the same number of secrets I do?

I hope they have less, because I have many.

I found a friend from elementary school on Facebook today. I called her my best friend, because I has desperately wanted to have one, but in reality she was just someone who would tolerate me. She was way into Hello Kitty, which was freaky, but I acted semi-interested in it to prove that we had something in common.

She is different now. Her information claims she is still Christian, in college, and loving C.S.Lewis, but there are pictures of her smoking a joint. Am I like that. . ? Full of contradictions? There is alcohol too. Not that I'm not guilty of that one, and I would have been guilty of weed too, if I had ever gotten the chance, but I like to think that I try.

She has many friends, and they go places, sometimes at night. Why am I not more adventurous.

No. I am. Opportunity just doesn't knock very often. I have few friends, but I love them. Maybe she loves hers too, but we are different kinds of people. Some people carry demons around, and others carry rainbows, even if they're artificially made.
I will message her, and I will say "Geez. I haven't talked to you in years. How are you doing? You are gorgeous!" How do you do it? Does it hurt to be so beautiful? Are you loved? Do you still like Hello Kitty, or was that a phase that you went through back in 5th grade? Remember Dion, and how he cussed out Mrs. McCammon? Remember her hair? It was so white and fluffy? Remember Andrew and the whoopee cushions? I'd always ask him to wait until I got back from the bathroom to do it. Remember Tony and how she cut his whoopee cushion in half with scissors, and how he fumed? Remember? Remember how I had a crush on Willy? I heard your sister was pregnant. Is she? If I ask too many questions- I always ask too many questions, tell me to stop. I stop well.

There are coy fish and funny buildings from Arizona, and I wonder how people can forget so easily. Or maybe they grow up, and I am still stuck in rewind.
It's only 2:25, I can wait longer.

Right now I wonder if God speaks to me through my writing. Maybe through writing down whatever may come into my head, maybe by that He is trying to communicate thoughts. Or something. That would be cool, and I know He's not to be underestimated. He may, though usually my writing is, as Simon would say "indulgent nonsense". He would be right.

There are moods and styles to my writing. Right now, it is more formal, more Jane Austin, and British accent than me. This is the mood where I would strut around and talk in an accent, any accent but probably British, for an hour or so. Maybe I would wear a hat, too, and tip it so it brims my eyes. Maybe. Maybe I would imagine I had a cane, and I would act like I was twirling it, and then act like it had hit me in the face, because that would be what it would do, if I were twirling it in real life. I am clumsy. It makes for a good conversation starter though, so I do not mind most of the time. Usually the only time I mind is when I am with someone I like undeniably, with my whole heart, and I am scared he will think me stupid or shake his head and frown. But if I don't have my weird little idiosyncrasies; my funny, stupid, random things I am boring. Actually, I am boring anyway, but it makes it a little more bearable. More entertaining. And I truly feel that it is me.

For years, especially my early teens, I had trouble being myself. I desperately wanted to go do something stupid and laugh at myself, but I was scared. My parents didn't like that sort of thing, so I just sat in a corner and stared at my shoes, or the floor and smiled when people asked me questions. Sometimes I still do that, when I am feeling insecure, which is often, but it's no fun.

No, I like being myself. I love asking random people how their day's went, and just doing things that aren't usually done. If everyone followed the folkways of our society, this place would be a dull place to live in. That's my opinion anyway.
It's also my sociology professor's opinion. I asked her if it was against a more of life to hug a professor, I told her I didn't know, because I hadn't been doing this long, and it's not like I obeyed mores and folkways in high school. She said it's no fun to be normal, and she gave me a hug. I would have given her one, but she hadn't given me a yes or no answer, and I was seized by this weird feeling. Hugging a professor? I want to, because she's pretty much the coolest thing since grilled cheese, but. . .

I also think I had forgotten deodorant that day. I hate when I do that. It makes me feel so dumb. It never stinks, but tell my mind that while it's in the state of paranoia. Yeah. No go. This is why I should get back on Lorazepam. Even the stupidest "little" things bother me so much that I can't face other humans. It's not like there hasn't been a time when someone else in my class, my professor even, has forgotten deodorant! Of course they have! My professor probably never wears deodorant because she's a hippie (she never smells bad though, I don't think).

Sometimes I spin, in my living room. Usually I do it until I can't stand up or until I feel like throwing up my lunch. It makes me feel like I am in preschool again, even though I don't remember preschool. I'm sure I spun though. All kids spin when they're that age, don't they?

The world goes so fast, and it all becomes one streaky blur, moving, moving, moving, moving. It doesn't stop until I do, and even for a while after that it keeps spinning, on it's own now, with a life of its own, breathing and living and laughing and most of all dancing.

There is magic in doing this. Somehow a spell is weaved and faeries somewhere are drawn to me; to me in my living room, but I collapse before they reach me.

I'm a dreamer. In my bucket list (things to do during my life before I kick the bucket) I've put "touch a faerie" and "ride a unicorn" and "ride a centaur" amongst other things like that. I do. I believe in those mystical creatures. No, really, I do. I'm not just saying it for shock factor or whatever. . . Sometimes when we're driving through the narrow roads down in Payson, I imagine, and almost see, centaurs stepping out of the bushes and heralding me. They usually bow. One winked once, funny man.

I'm not crazy, I just have an over-active imagination.

When I was younger I would stand in the shower and through the glass door and through all the little dropplets and riverlets of water and pray to Aslan to let me into Narnia. I figured if I tried enough ways, one would be the right one; the right words, or chant, or prayer and clouds would part, flutes would play, and suddenly I'd be standing infront of this huge and majestic lion. He would be soft, but I wouldn't touch him until later, when he bid me to touch his mane. . I would be too scared at first. He'd breathe on me. You know, the nice way, and I'd stand up. Soon I'd look into his eyes, and they'd be amber and kind. Oh, so kind.

I'm not sure what I'd do in Narnia. I'd definitely not be a Queen or any sort of thing like that. . . I think I was hoping for Aslan to heal me in some way. Maybe his breath would cleanse my heart and my mind and help me forget (I'm not sure what I'd forget, either, because I didn't have any terribly traumatic experiences as a child, but there was always a sense of something wrong). He would hug me and let me ride on his back to some place wonderful.

Aslan never let me into Narnia though. Maybe he will someday. Never loose hope, fellow travelers. Don't be like Susan, who chose to forget.

Maybe someday. .

Eh. But at the same time, I'm such a damned realist. I believe most of all in pain, because it's what got me here.

This blog really is way too long, no one will read it! (Do any of you read them anyways, even if they're short?)

<3