Friday, September 21, 2012
The Wisdom of Shaun
I met a prophet this year whose words gave me insight into myself and the nature of life. Okay, "prophet" may not be the right title because he didn't actually impart words from God.
Wise man? Guru? He shall be called Shaun.
Shaun is a tattoo artist. He imparts wisdom, art, and I'm pretty sure that he would hook me up with some pot if I so desired.
Like many people in their 30's who are facing the tattoo choices of their 20's, I came to the conclusion that it is time to fix my tattoo. FIX, not remove. Removal is ridiculous. Only pretentious snots who are trying to keep people from knowing that they were ever 20 years old get their tattoos removed.
The only acceptable reasons for tattoo removal are the following:
1) you were drunk and now have a cartoon or misspelled word on your body
2) you are no long married to or with the person whose name you lovingly had placed on your ass
3) you got a tattoo on your forehead and want to re-enter normal society
None of those apply to me and I am not a pretentious snot, so the responsible thing to do was to get my cheap, faded tramp stamp made larger and more awesome. I decided to fix/add to the little blue flower about 10 years ago. It took me until now to do it because I REMEMBER the horrible pain and misery that made 20 minutes feel like 3 days.
Enter Shaun, my guru.
I give Shaun a general idea of what I want. He draws a perfectly wonderful tramp stamp around my existing one. Approved.
I say to Shaun: okay, I am going to cry a lot. I am sorry if I cuss. When I did this the first time around, it was horrible.
Shaun: How long ago was that?
Me: 11 years ago.
Shaun: I bet it won't be as bad this time. You have probably experienced a lot of real pain in your life in the last 11 years. It tends to toughen people up. You may be surprised.
Me: (didn't actually say anything but gave him a look that made clear I was not buying his bullshit)
Shaun: Have you had any kids?
Me: No
Shaun: Surgery? Serious illness?
Me: Nope. I haven't even had wisdom teeth removed.
Shaun: Well, you will still be surprised how much more pain you can bear now.
And damn it. He was right. The man tattooed flowers and vines above my ass for 45 minutes. It hurt, but it was not miserable. I found myself entertained by the difference of feeling when the needle moved across the skin (just a warm, barely there pain) and then hit a nerve (the shooting pain that seemed to burn my teeth).
45 minutes later, I was shaking but happy. I did not cry. How the hell? I honestly don't think that anything biologically changed in me (regarding pain, at least) over 11 years. Age and time taught me how to hurt.
Shaun, a man of wisdom. His words came back to me today while driving.
I may not know what to do with my life. I am going crazy with uncertainty and being judged by an entire county. I have had trust broken and my pride crushed in the last few months. I'm beyond broke and doubting every decision I made leading up to this point.
But I'll be okay. I know how to hurt.
I also have a pretty bad-ass tramp stamp to make me feel better when I back that thing up in the mirror.
Wise man? Guru? He shall be called Shaun.
Shaun is a tattoo artist. He imparts wisdom, art, and I'm pretty sure that he would hook me up with some pot if I so desired.
Like many people in their 30's who are facing the tattoo choices of their 20's, I came to the conclusion that it is time to fix my tattoo. FIX, not remove. Removal is ridiculous. Only pretentious snots who are trying to keep people from knowing that they were ever 20 years old get their tattoos removed.
The only acceptable reasons for tattoo removal are the following:
1) you were drunk and now have a cartoon or misspelled word on your body
2) you are no long married to or with the person whose name you lovingly had placed on your ass
3) you got a tattoo on your forehead and want to re-enter normal society
None of those apply to me and I am not a pretentious snot, so the responsible thing to do was to get my cheap, faded tramp stamp made larger and more awesome. I decided to fix/add to the little blue flower about 10 years ago. It took me until now to do it because I REMEMBER the horrible pain and misery that made 20 minutes feel like 3 days.
Enter Shaun, my guru.
I give Shaun a general idea of what I want. He draws a perfectly wonderful tramp stamp around my existing one. Approved.
I say to Shaun: okay, I am going to cry a lot. I am sorry if I cuss. When I did this the first time around, it was horrible.
Shaun: How long ago was that?
Me: 11 years ago.
Shaun: I bet it won't be as bad this time. You have probably experienced a lot of real pain in your life in the last 11 years. It tends to toughen people up. You may be surprised.
Me: (didn't actually say anything but gave him a look that made clear I was not buying his bullshit)
Shaun: Have you had any kids?
Me: No
Shaun: Surgery? Serious illness?
Me: Nope. I haven't even had wisdom teeth removed.
Shaun: Well, you will still be surprised how much more pain you can bear now.
And damn it. He was right. The man tattooed flowers and vines above my ass for 45 minutes. It hurt, but it was not miserable. I found myself entertained by the difference of feeling when the needle moved across the skin (just a warm, barely there pain) and then hit a nerve (the shooting pain that seemed to burn my teeth).
45 minutes later, I was shaking but happy. I did not cry. How the hell? I honestly don't think that anything biologically changed in me (regarding pain, at least) over 11 years. Age and time taught me how to hurt.
Shaun, a man of wisdom. His words came back to me today while driving.
I may not know what to do with my life. I am going crazy with uncertainty and being judged by an entire county. I have had trust broken and my pride crushed in the last few months. I'm beyond broke and doubting every decision I made leading up to this point.
But I'll be okay. I know how to hurt.
I also have a pretty bad-ass tramp stamp to make me feel better when I back that thing up in the mirror.
Monday, September 10, 2012
The No Good, Very Bad Day
I was due for a bad day. I had a wonderful week last week. I finished a personal art project, discovered the wonders of taking bubble baths in the guest bathroom, and went to an AMAZING concert. What ended a fun week such as that? Fall arrived! Our high today was 80 degrees. I sat on a porch with friends last night singing, drinking, and actually getting chilled in the night air.
I should have known. Today is Monday. Where there is an up swing, there must also be a down swing.
Grant it, no one is dying or gravely ill. I haven't lost my job or home. I even opened a package of jeans in the mail that fit me perfectly.
I was stupid, though, and went into work. More stupidly, I sat down in my boss's office and talked about the state of the church. All that I have lost in the last 6 months hit once again.
Tonight, the deacons are meeting to talk about a time of transition. The pastor is retiring and there are a lot of steps to take and committees to form. Naturally, the only other full time minister should be part of the transition process. Someone needs to be a communication hub, right? Wrong. Not as long as that full-time minister is me:
-I am not welcomed at the deacons meeting.
-I am no longer invited to lead any adult bible study or event.
-Without discussion, I am no longer being offered the new title of "Associate Pastor" despite it being a unanimous vote last spring.
-People are now spreading the rumor that I am a lesbian (although this one to me is just funny).
-In the pastor's words: "They will be okay with you doing what you've been doing (youth and college-out of sight, out of mind), but they won't want your spiritual leadership in any of this."
-My preaching opportunities have been cut in half this year.
-The pastor is now pushing for our church to be moderate and he is supporting the notion that the next pastor and the person who replaces me when I leave will be much more conservative than us.
-When I brought up ideas for worship given to me by liberal friends, I was immediately shot down. The pastor made a face of disdain for their "presumptive attitudes."
-I realized that, although there has been no vote, my lesbian friends will never be offered a position of leadership in the church. They are associate members by default although the church does not have associate membership.
-I can't talk to the pastor about anything past, present, or future that upsets me. His good opinion of me is rocky at best and I depend on his recommendation for any future jobs.
I am being fired in the tradition of moderate baptists: They will not ask you to go, but will keep you from doing any effective ministry. They will shut me out until I leave on my own.
After a perfectly lovely weekend, I now feel defeated. And foolish. The feeling will pass, but today is a horrible, no good, very bad day.
I should have known. Today is Monday. Where there is an up swing, there must also be a down swing.
Grant it, no one is dying or gravely ill. I haven't lost my job or home. I even opened a package of jeans in the mail that fit me perfectly.
I was stupid, though, and went into work. More stupidly, I sat down in my boss's office and talked about the state of the church. All that I have lost in the last 6 months hit once again.
Tonight, the deacons are meeting to talk about a time of transition. The pastor is retiring and there are a lot of steps to take and committees to form. Naturally, the only other full time minister should be part of the transition process. Someone needs to be a communication hub, right? Wrong. Not as long as that full-time minister is me:
-I am not welcomed at the deacons meeting.
-I am no longer invited to lead any adult bible study or event.
-Without discussion, I am no longer being offered the new title of "Associate Pastor" despite it being a unanimous vote last spring.
-People are now spreading the rumor that I am a lesbian (although this one to me is just funny).
-In the pastor's words: "They will be okay with you doing what you've been doing (youth and college-out of sight, out of mind), but they won't want your spiritual leadership in any of this."
-My preaching opportunities have been cut in half this year.
-The pastor is now pushing for our church to be moderate and he is supporting the notion that the next pastor and the person who replaces me when I leave will be much more conservative than us.
-When I brought up ideas for worship given to me by liberal friends, I was immediately shot down. The pastor made a face of disdain for their "presumptive attitudes."
-I realized that, although there has been no vote, my lesbian friends will never be offered a position of leadership in the church. They are associate members by default although the church does not have associate membership.
-I can't talk to the pastor about anything past, present, or future that upsets me. His good opinion of me is rocky at best and I depend on his recommendation for any future jobs.
After a perfectly lovely weekend, I now feel defeated. And foolish. The feeling will pass, but today is a horrible, no good, very bad day.
Tuesday, August 28, 2012
Mr. Burns
Sometimes all I need in life is to know that someone wants me. That is about all that I can honestly take right now, which is why these last few months have been pleasantly satifying. You see, Mr. Burns has a crush on me.
Okay, so it is not Mr. Burns. It is a sweet, awkward 25 year-old intern who is skinny and bald enough for me to make the connection. Before telling you this story, let me make some clarifications:
I am not, in fact Bill Clinton. I am not interested in dating or receiving any kind of physical favors from an intern. There is no flirting and I am not encouraging any confused happy feelings that he may have. I learned my lesson with both 1) dating someone at work and 2) dating much younger men.
Clarification made, I still enjoyed the summer. A smalll dose of witnessing a crush was all it took to wake me up. I have not thought of love or boys or crushes in a very long time. As a matter of fact, so many of my friends are getting divorced and I am so jaded from work stuff that I have a hard time believing in love.
I think that I why God sent me Mr. Burns intern. Not to fall in love, but to be reminded that I am, in fact, a woman who could be loved by someone one day. That is easy to forget when you are neck-high in senior citizens, meetings, a dysfunctional family, and an uncertain future.
So here is what woke me up:
Mr. Burns doesn't know how to say goodbye or leave any meeting or interaction. This means that when it was time to go, he lingered. A lot. He sat on the couch in my office and asked question after question about me. That isn't much of anything except for when...
Someone asked him what he wanted to do with his life, and he said "I think I'll just marry a minister so that I can sit on her couch and talk about ministry." We all acted like no one heard him. I, however, was very flattered.
And then there was...
I made a joke in a meeting about how sexy it is when men know how to dance. He immediately said "Gee, I need to learn how to dance" and practiced dancing to himself. We just laughed it off and kinda ignored it. Again, I was flattered.
That was all it took. A summer with a sweet, awkward intern passively flirting with me. Now I remember that I am, in fact, a woman. It is strange to think that this is how far I have come from two years ago when the sexy latino janitor was asking me to dinner when I was still dating the sexy funk musician.
For now, I'll take what I can get. Thank you, Mr. Burns.
Texas, My Texas!
Texas will always be home. I am a Texan. I love Texas and its many quirks. I love that it is such a large state that we have at LEAST four disctinct accents and cultures. I love the arrogance and self-importance of Texas. When I moved away from Texas, I enjoyed discovering just how much the rest of the nation thinks about and brands things around Texas. We get a lot more air time than, say, Pennsylvania.
I love Texas unless we are talking politics or religion. Election season is a brutal time for me. Even from the comfort of the East Coast (although my present state of residence is not getting great air time either), I can't escape the stupidity and staunch Republican Southern Baptist White Unapologetic views from my home state.
They voted to do away with all Planned Parenthood in Texas, finding a loophole that lets them ignore federal mandate.
The damned anti-Obama movie that is feeding the fear of uneducated masses came from Houston.
I love Texas unless we are talking politics or religion. Election season is a brutal time for me. Even from the comfort of the East Coast (although my present state of residence is not getting great air time either), I can't escape the stupidity and staunch Republican Southern Baptist White Unapologetic views from my home state.
They voted to do away with all Planned Parenthood in Texas, finding a loophole that lets them ignore federal mandate.
REALLY????
FUUUCKKK!!!
A judge in Texas has threatened Civil War if Obama is re-elected and is preparing folks for the fight.
Even in Texas, that is BATSHIT CRAZY!!!!!
Those were just the news stories from one afternoon. It will be a long three months between now and the election...
She is sad because she has no place to get a free papsmear or breast exam... the bull is worried about her impending cervical cancer that will go untreated.
Oh Texas. I realize that I am your wayward child. I've left your strong borders and lived outside of the conservative bubble for too long. I no longer belong. You will always be my home, but I guess there is no going home, is there? I am sorry for moving away and learning that there is a bigger, wider, and more liberal world out there.
The Bitter Break-up
It wasn't a serious relationship, but I had to end things. Yes, we'd been together since I met them in the mall in 1992. I haven't always been loyal, but they got me through some really rough and lonely months back in 2005. It was a relationship that I could always count on- something different and reliable.
And what did they do? They fucked up. There were hints in the years past that we were growing apart. I sensed that their values did not always reflect mine. But they had to throw it in my face. I had no choice.
I broke up with Chic-fil-a.
It was a resentful break-up on my part. If I wrote a note to Chic-fil-a, it would say:
Dear Chic-fil-a,
I still love you and your breakfast sandwiches, but your complete lack of morals is too much for me to handle. I hate you for making me love you! Why do you have to be so stupid? Why did you align yourself with every backwoods, angry, ignorant, self-righteous, and bigoted Christian in America?
Why do you make me walk away from you? It isn't me, it's you. This IS personal. We are over. Call me when you do something to redeem this hate you spread in the name of Jesus.
Regrettfully,
Your ex-lover
And what did they do? They fucked up. There were hints in the years past that we were growing apart. I sensed that their values did not always reflect mine. But they had to throw it in my face. I had no choice.
I broke up with Chic-fil-a.
It was a resentful break-up on my part. If I wrote a note to Chic-fil-a, it would say:
Dear Chic-fil-a,
I still love you and your breakfast sandwiches, but your complete lack of morals is too much for me to handle. I hate you for making me love you! Why do you have to be so stupid? Why did you align yourself with every backwoods, angry, ignorant, self-righteous, and bigoted Christian in America?
Why do you make me walk away from you? It isn't me, it's you. This IS personal. We are over. Call me when you do something to redeem this hate you spread in the name of Jesus.
Regrettfully,
Your ex-lover
p.s. If you need me, you can find me at Zaxby's. Their nibblers are growing on me and they don't hate gays and lesbians.
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
Interns for a quarter
What is my favorite part of summer at work? Summer interns! Yes, these last years I have had college students or grad students who work for free (or almost free) at the church at least 10 hours a week.
It. Is. Awesome. Even when it is horrible, it is still awesome. Why? I get that same thrill that I got as a kid after inserting a quarter into the toy machine while spinning that metal handle around and around.
Click. Oh! It is really working!
Click. What will I get?
Click. I hear it coming down the chute!
Oh, how I loved to lift the metal flap. It is so exciting to open that plastic bubble and discover what wonderful or crappy prize I just bought for a quarter. Most of the time it was some broken or unrecognizable toy from another country. The worst was those sticky balls that were supposed to climb down your walls and just ended up leaving grease marks on the ceiling that your mom yells at you about (not that such a thing happened). The best was jewelry. ANY kind of jewelry.
Now summer interns are my grown up version of the toy machine. We pay out little or no money. They arrive. For the first few weeks, we are still winding the metal handle to see what we will get. It is fun to work with them, challenge them, encourage them, and see who is the star prize.*
This summer we have FOUR. An entire dollar's worth. Here is the line up:
The sticker intern: He is shiney and attractive! Everyone was excited and surprised to see him! He started off strong saying yes to everything and acting as if he was actually listening to people talk. Alas, the stickiness ran out and he fell to the floor. Got another job. We found out that smiling and nodding is a hot guy's way to say, "I have no idea what you are talking about and I am way out of my element but I am going to act cool until I just don't show up or do anything assigned to me." Ironically, this shallow, shiney intern was our oldest at 26 years old. He is going to a fundamentalist seminary in the fall where he will do quite well.
The bouncy ball intern. She is the intern that everyone wants! Watch her go! She will never break and she blows your mind with her abilities and her joyful attitude! Unfortunately, everyone wants the bouncy ball so she works at two other churches in addition to ours. Like her namesake, she is awesome but impossible to find at any given moment in time. Sharing bouncy balls sucks ass.
The plastic animal intern. She has gifts and skills. She is also beautiful and sweet. This intern will always have a place in ministry because she can sing and love old people. Like a plastic animal, you will never get rid of it but its sweetness and innocence may tempt you to take it for granted. To truly appreciate it, you must not to look closer at the missing eye or mis-painted tail. You are better off assuming that there is more detail and depth there than is the reality. I love this intern, even with her flaws.
The slidey puzzle intern. Yes, we shall not forget the puzzle with plastic squares that slide around to make an image. Like this last intern, it is an acquired taste. They are both very thoughtful, awkward, dorky, and easy for people to see and think "lame." He, however, ended up being the star prize. Why? He never broke! He is always available and willing! The pastor claimed this intern for himself, as often happens when a nerdy kid finds the slidey puzzle game. Mine! I'm still figuring it out! Get your own!
Summer is coming to a close and I am already starting to get that sad feeling when the thrill is over and you are out of quarters. You got what you got and you'll lose it in a month or so anyway. Except that "it" is a human being. With whom I've built a relationship. And who was not made in China...at least no one in this year's crop.
*I am fully aware that it is horrible for a minister to objectify and judge the precious people with whom I work as if they were not significant in God's eyes. I never claimed to be a good minister. Good ministers have boring blogs.
It. Is. Awesome. Even when it is horrible, it is still awesome. Why? I get that same thrill that I got as a kid after inserting a quarter into the toy machine while spinning that metal handle around and around.
Click. Oh! It is really working!
Click. What will I get?
Click. I hear it coming down the chute!
Oh, how I loved to lift the metal flap. It is so exciting to open that plastic bubble and discover what wonderful or crappy prize I just bought for a quarter. Most of the time it was some broken or unrecognizable toy from another country. The worst was those sticky balls that were supposed to climb down your walls and just ended up leaving grease marks on the ceiling that your mom yells at you about (not that such a thing happened). The best was jewelry. ANY kind of jewelry.
Now summer interns are my grown up version of the toy machine. We pay out little or no money. They arrive. For the first few weeks, we are still winding the metal handle to see what we will get. It is fun to work with them, challenge them, encourage them, and see who is the star prize.*
This summer we have FOUR. An entire dollar's worth. Here is the line up:
The sticker intern: He is shiney and attractive! Everyone was excited and surprised to see him! He started off strong saying yes to everything and acting as if he was actually listening to people talk. Alas, the stickiness ran out and he fell to the floor. Got another job. We found out that smiling and nodding is a hot guy's way to say, "I have no idea what you are talking about and I am way out of my element but I am going to act cool until I just don't show up or do anything assigned to me." Ironically, this shallow, shiney intern was our oldest at 26 years old. He is going to a fundamentalist seminary in the fall where he will do quite well.
The bouncy ball intern. She is the intern that everyone wants! Watch her go! She will never break and she blows your mind with her abilities and her joyful attitude! Unfortunately, everyone wants the bouncy ball so she works at two other churches in addition to ours. Like her namesake, she is awesome but impossible to find at any given moment in time. Sharing bouncy balls sucks ass.
The plastic animal intern. She has gifts and skills. She is also beautiful and sweet. This intern will always have a place in ministry because she can sing and love old people. Like a plastic animal, you will never get rid of it but its sweetness and innocence may tempt you to take it for granted. To truly appreciate it, you must not to look closer at the missing eye or mis-painted tail. You are better off assuming that there is more detail and depth there than is the reality. I love this intern, even with her flaws.
The slidey puzzle intern. Yes, we shall not forget the puzzle with plastic squares that slide around to make an image. Like this last intern, it is an acquired taste. They are both very thoughtful, awkward, dorky, and easy for people to see and think "lame." He, however, ended up being the star prize. Why? He never broke! He is always available and willing! The pastor claimed this intern for himself, as often happens when a nerdy kid finds the slidey puzzle game. Mine! I'm still figuring it out! Get your own!
Summer is coming to a close and I am already starting to get that sad feeling when the thrill is over and you are out of quarters. You got what you got and you'll lose it in a month or so anyway. Except that "it" is a human being. With whom I've built a relationship. And who was not made in China...at least no one in this year's crop.
*I am fully aware that it is horrible for a minister to objectify and judge the precious people with whom I work as if they were not significant in God's eyes. I never claimed to be a good minister. Good ministers have boring blogs.
Judgment Day
It has come for the second time.
The first judgment day snuck up on me slowly. It was small changes at first and then everything went downhill until there was no denying the impending judgment. I survived that first time with little cost.
Little Cost. I knew that it was too much grace, as if I just put off the ultimate day of doom. I lived for years in fear and trembling. Waiting. Watching. Feeling my door frames and breathing in sweet relief that I had survived another day without the inevitable.
And now it is here. It came in the night, sometime between 1am and 5am. I awoke and knew. From a deep sleep, I sat up and said, "This is not good."
Yes. My air conditioning is broken.
There is no going back to sleep when I wake up to a hot house. Now I have to wait. One day. Maybe two. I wait for some person to come to my house and give me the news. Am I going to receive grace? It could be a $20 part and a $40 job. Am I going to be held accountable for my home ownership actions? It could be a $100 part and a $300 job. Am I going to be given the ultimate judgment, dooming me to debt? I may have to buy a new unit.
The day is come. Maybe the holder of my fate with allow me to buy time before finally paying the ultimate cost. Can we please wait a few years for a new unit, Mr. A/C repair man? Until I know, I feel like I could throw up. Sleep is no longer an option. Today is going to be humid and 95 degrees. Oh, the misery of a beat-down soul.
The first judgment day snuck up on me slowly. It was small changes at first and then everything went downhill until there was no denying the impending judgment. I survived that first time with little cost.
Little Cost. I knew that it was too much grace, as if I just put off the ultimate day of doom. I lived for years in fear and trembling. Waiting. Watching. Feeling my door frames and breathing in sweet relief that I had survived another day without the inevitable.
And now it is here. It came in the night, sometime between 1am and 5am. I awoke and knew. From a deep sleep, I sat up and said, "This is not good."
Yes. My air conditioning is broken.
There is no going back to sleep when I wake up to a hot house. Now I have to wait. One day. Maybe two. I wait for some person to come to my house and give me the news. Am I going to receive grace? It could be a $20 part and a $40 job. Am I going to be held accountable for my home ownership actions? It could be a $100 part and a $300 job. Am I going to be given the ultimate judgment, dooming me to debt? I may have to buy a new unit.
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
Big Girl Panties
Have you ever reached a point when your life is so miserable that it is humorous? I learned this from my family. You have to be able to laugh at your own misery sometimes. Here is a conversation from a phone call last week:
Me: Hey Josh (my brother)! How is everything?
Josh: Oh, you know. Everyone is gone right now. They are all at ball practice and art lessons.
Me: Nice! You have an empty house right now! I will let you go so you can enjoy the quiet.
Josh: No big deal. I am about to go on a date. [loaded pause after date]
Me: Whaaaat? Who with?
Josh: An older lady. 47
Me: Is she rich?
Josh: No, she is one of Joanna's friends. [another loaded pause because our sister, Joanna, makes horrible decisions and usually has friends who are complete trash or screwups]
Me: Oh. (pause) You know, you aren't supposed to date older people unless they are rich. Is she a blonde?
Josh: Yes! I don't know what my problem is! She has hair just like Meredith (his crazy girlfriend he dated on and off for 10 years)
Me: Dammit, Josh. You have to get over the blonde thing! Well, have a great date. I was just calling to check on my messed up sister, hurting nephews, and sick father.
Josh: (laughs a little) Yes, and the boys really are hurting. Joanna is in detox right now.
Me: Well, that is good. Where did she go?
Josh: Oh, she is in the next room.
And we laughed and laughed.
I recently realized that being a member of my family and being a woman makes me a lot stronger than most of the men in my life. That may be sexist, but...
Since the shit hit the fan at church, the pastor and my two closest guy friends freaked out and can't handle conflict. At all. All three have bailed on me when they were all supportive about doing a lesbian wedding a week ago. Two of them played in the band at the wedding! We knew it was coming and they talked a good game, but they only lasted two weeks before giving up. I can't depend on the men, so here is my new mantra:
I had drinks and watched a movie with my girlfriends and gave them a little inspirational speech. It was essentially: Our lives suck. The men can't handle any of this. They are shitting themselves. So we have to step up. We have to put on our big girl panties because we know how to be broken and strong at the same time.
I actually bought a giant pair of panties (they fit me, unfortunately) for us to pass around as needed. Only one of us can lose our shit at a time and that woman will hold the panties. The rest of us have to keep wearing ours.
Why? Because men are weak. I can't depend on any man in North Carolina to help me hang onto my job. It is up to the women to step up and take care of things.
We can cry, we can cuss, we can discuss things until we are blue in the face. Real women, however, do not allow themselves to give into fear and hopelessness and shit themselves. Not in the big girl panties. That is what they are made for.
Me: Hey Josh (my brother)! How is everything?
Josh: Oh, you know. Everyone is gone right now. They are all at ball practice and art lessons.
Me: Nice! You have an empty house right now! I will let you go so you can enjoy the quiet.
Josh: No big deal. I am about to go on a date. [loaded pause after date]
Me: Whaaaat? Who with?
Josh: An older lady. 47
Me: Is she rich?
Josh: No, she is one of Joanna's friends. [another loaded pause because our sister, Joanna, makes horrible decisions and usually has friends who are complete trash or screwups]
Me: Oh. (pause) You know, you aren't supposed to date older people unless they are rich. Is she a blonde?
Josh: Yes! I don't know what my problem is! She has hair just like Meredith (his crazy girlfriend he dated on and off for 10 years)
Me: Dammit, Josh. You have to get over the blonde thing! Well, have a great date. I was just calling to check on my messed up sister, hurting nephews, and sick father.
Josh: (laughs a little) Yes, and the boys really are hurting. Joanna is in detox right now.
Me: Well, that is good. Where did she go?
Josh: Oh, she is in the next room.
And we laughed and laughed.
I recently realized that being a member of my family and being a woman makes me a lot stronger than most of the men in my life. That may be sexist, but...
Since the shit hit the fan at church, the pastor and my two closest guy friends freaked out and can't handle conflict. At all. All three have bailed on me when they were all supportive about doing a lesbian wedding a week ago. Two of them played in the band at the wedding! We knew it was coming and they talked a good game, but they only lasted two weeks before giving up. I can't depend on the men, so here is my new mantra:
I actually bought a giant pair of panties (they fit me, unfortunately) for us to pass around as needed. Only one of us can lose our shit at a time and that woman will hold the panties. The rest of us have to keep wearing ours.
Why? Because men are weak. I can't depend on any man in North Carolina to help me hang onto my job. It is up to the women to step up and take care of things.
We can cry, we can cuss, we can discuss things until we are blue in the face. Real women, however, do not allow themselves to give into fear and hopelessness and shit themselves. Not in the big girl panties. That is what they are made for.
best sermon ever
This has been a rough month.
I live in North Carolina and the state voted to pass Amendment 1, which states: "All gay people are going to hell. We hate them and they can go fuck themselves."
Or something like that.
Two weeks before the amendment vote, I performed a wedding ceremony for some very close friends- both of whom are women. It was a beautiful day! Magical from beginning to end. A day for celebration!
Within a week, some angry Republicans from the church found out about the wedding. They asked for my head on a plate. In the form of a resignation. SO it has been hell. I am sure that I will unfold the hell more in weeks to come.
Until then, here is an amazing sermon by a pastor who 1) gives me hope and 2) solidifies my attraction to tall, strong, black men.
Awesome Sermon
I live in North Carolina and the state voted to pass Amendment 1, which states: "All gay people are going to hell. We hate them and they can go fuck themselves."
Or something like that.
Two weeks before the amendment vote, I performed a wedding ceremony for some very close friends- both of whom are women. It was a beautiful day! Magical from beginning to end. A day for celebration!
Within a week, some angry Republicans from the church found out about the wedding. They asked for my head on a plate. In the form of a resignation. SO it has been hell. I am sure that I will unfold the hell more in weeks to come.
Until then, here is an amazing sermon by a pastor who 1) gives me hope and 2) solidifies my attraction to tall, strong, black men.
Awesome Sermon
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
oh HELL no
Yesterday was a wake-up call for me. No, not a wake-up call. Those are always life inspiring events that cause someone to make big changes and everything turns out wonderfully. Let’s start again.
Yesterday, a stranger reached through the phone and did the emotional equivalent of shoving an ice pick through my eye. Yes, that feels better.
I am now crushed, embarrassed, depressed, and irrevocably pissed off. I have entered a long-term war with Blue Cross Blue Shield. I should probably include Cigna, but they were late with the ice pick and the damage had already been done. Yes, it is Blue Cross Blue Shield who is now the enemy. I want to fuck them up enough to wage war with my entire life.
Dramatic much? No. I am a 33 year-old woman who was denied health insurance.
Let’s back track. I already have health insurance. Really good insurance, including dental. The problem is that said insurance is with a group of ministers who are aging by the day. This makes my premium ridiculously expensive.
The church gave us a 2% raise, the first raise in years. Woo-hoo! Oh wait, this is the church. There must be a screwing over coming soon... Since we received this very generous raise, they quit covering any raises in insurance rates. The result? I now bring home LESS money this year because I am now paying for every rate hike that plagues our great nation.
This led me to call BCBS. Since I now get to pocket any money that I save on insurance, it was time for me to find a cheap plan with a high deductible for hospital visits. A woman who visits the family clinic maybe once a year for a cold or flu does NOT need a $250 deductible for a hospital stay.
I am young and healthy. Every test that a doctor can run by poking, prodding, and draining me always comes out perfectly.
Except that I am NOT young and healthy. I am 33 and fat. I take anti-depressants and birth control. After much pressing, the very kind insurance agent explained that until I either quit anti-depressants (not an option) or lose 50 lbs, I can’t find new health insurance. I am allowed to be fat. Or depressed. The combination makes me a liability.
Now we get to the “oh HELL no” portion of my life. Fuck that. This is going to change. I know I can save $200/month by losing weight. I am now at war with the world. And myself.
I will not die fat and alone simply because God tells me that I have to be alone. I will die less fat from something awesome like contracting a rare disease while traveling the world or a parachuting malfunction or being shot while saving a baby from a gang war in Guatemala.
BCBS will come to hate me. I will now lose weight, get their cheap coverage, and then proceed to find as many dangerous and awesome activities as possible.
The war begins. Right after I lose 50 lbs.
Yesterday, a stranger reached through the phone and did the emotional equivalent of shoving an ice pick through my eye. Yes, that feels better.
I am now crushed, embarrassed, depressed, and irrevocably pissed off. I have entered a long-term war with Blue Cross Blue Shield. I should probably include Cigna, but they were late with the ice pick and the damage had already been done. Yes, it is Blue Cross Blue Shield who is now the enemy. I want to fuck them up enough to wage war with my entire life.
Dramatic much? No. I am a 33 year-old woman who was denied health insurance.
Let’s back track. I already have health insurance. Really good insurance, including dental. The problem is that said insurance is with a group of ministers who are aging by the day. This makes my premium ridiculously expensive.
The church gave us a 2% raise, the first raise in years. Woo-hoo! Oh wait, this is the church. There must be a screwing over coming soon... Since we received this very generous raise, they quit covering any raises in insurance rates. The result? I now bring home LESS money this year because I am now paying for every rate hike that plagues our great nation.
This led me to call BCBS. Since I now get to pocket any money that I save on insurance, it was time for me to find a cheap plan with a high deductible for hospital visits. A woman who visits the family clinic maybe once a year for a cold or flu does NOT need a $250 deductible for a hospital stay.
I am young and healthy. Every test that a doctor can run by poking, prodding, and draining me always comes out perfectly.
Except that I am NOT young and healthy. I am 33 and fat. I take anti-depressants and birth control. After much pressing, the very kind insurance agent explained that until I either quit anti-depressants (not an option) or lose 50 lbs, I can’t find new health insurance. I am allowed to be fat. Or depressed. The combination makes me a liability.
Now we get to the “oh HELL no” portion of my life. Fuck that. This is going to change. I know I can save $200/month by losing weight. I am now at war with the world. And myself.
I will not die fat and alone simply because God tells me that I have to be alone. I will die less fat from something awesome like contracting a rare disease while traveling the world or a parachuting malfunction or being shot while saving a baby from a gang war in Guatemala.
BCBS will come to hate me. I will now lose weight, get their cheap coverage, and then proceed to find as many dangerous and awesome activities as possible.
The war begins. Right after I lose 50 lbs.
Letting Go of Dreams, Part 2
The problem is that God never promised us our dreams. God never promised to be faithful in keeping us happy and making our lives go the way we want.
I began to give up the dreams of a husband and children with the thought in the back of my head that God has a huge other blessing that will replace them. Maybe God is even testing me to see if I will give up my desires right before the man of my dreams walks into my life.
That is not how God works. I give up my dream and keep following God. God doesn’t have to reward me for doing what I am supposed to do.
My parents had their dreams snatched away by a broken world. By laying aside their own plans and caring for a broken daughter, they are doing what God has called them to do. God doesn’t have to reward them for doing what they are supposed to do either.
God and I are talking now. I realize that I am not helpless in this journey. I keep choosing to listen for God’s voice and try to follow. I chose this life of ministry. I am a happy single person 80% of the time. I am the one who holds onto every cautionary tale of marriage and loss to keep me from marrying someone for the sake of getting married.
Now my prayers: God, help me to live again. Teach me what life looks like without a family. You suck (still not completely over it). Help me find contentment and purpose again.
I have to lay aside big, life-long dreams and begin accepting my life for what it is. It turns out that planning a future without the worry of a family that would hault some opportunities, solve some problems that I don't want to solve, and motivate me to be a better, more generous woman with a cleaner house and a kitchen full of home-cooked food... where was I? Oh yeah, it turns out that planning a future without all that has blown my brain.
I am having to learn how to dream all over again.
I began to give up the dreams of a husband and children with the thought in the back of my head that God has a huge other blessing that will replace them. Maybe God is even testing me to see if I will give up my desires right before the man of my dreams walks into my life.
That is not how God works. I give up my dream and keep following God. God doesn’t have to reward me for doing what I am supposed to do.
My parents had their dreams snatched away by a broken world. By laying aside their own plans and caring for a broken daughter, they are doing what God has called them to do. God doesn’t have to reward them for doing what they are supposed to do either.
God and I are talking now. I realize that I am not helpless in this journey. I keep choosing to listen for God’s voice and try to follow. I chose this life of ministry. I am a happy single person 80% of the time. I am the one who holds onto every cautionary tale of marriage and loss to keep me from marrying someone for the sake of getting married.
Now my prayers: God, help me to live again. Teach me what life looks like without a family. You suck (still not completely over it). Help me find contentment and purpose again.
I have to lay aside big, life-long dreams and begin accepting my life for what it is. It turns out that planning a future without the worry of a family that would hault some opportunities, solve some problems that I don't want to solve, and motivate me to be a better, more generous woman with a cleaner house and a kitchen full of home-cooked food... where was I? Oh yeah, it turns out that planning a future without all that has blown my brain.
I am having to learn how to dream all over again.
Letting Go of Dreams, Part 1
What a semester this was. It began in August with the incoming college students and my yearly draw to find love (for clarification: I do not look for love among the college students. Their return is simply a changing of seasons like needy, beautiful 18 year old fall leaves). There is something about August that triggers the “I want a man” gene in me and leads me back to the dismal world of online dating.
August hit. I joined the sites. I was on the search for men who were husband material. It was ugly. Ugly, ugly, ugly. Nothing makes a single, liberal, tall, fat, smart, independent, emotionally stable(ish), minister feel lonely like realizing that not many men are looking for just that. Or anything near that. I found myself scouring three different sites for a glimmer of hope. I prayed. I researched. I planned to totally clean my house. “God? Is there any chance for me to find love?”
A few weeks later, I got an answer. Christians who have sought God’s will for a long time have their various ways of feeling God speak. In my way, God spoke. Clearly and without a doubt, God told me:
Stop looking.
That is all I got. I knew it wasn’t the kind of “stop looking” that meant the man of my dreams was already in my life. It was the kind of “stop looking” that meant it was time to let this dream go.
“Stop looking” came to me in August. I didn’t want to hear it. It wasn’t until the end of October that I began going back to God with this issue and finally saying okay. I stopped looking and began to accept the strong possibility that a husband and babies in my stomach were not for my life.
I was heartbroken. I am heartbroken. Broken heart or not, I knew that God’s voice is not one to be ignored. I can leave ministry any day and find a husband within months who wants to marry a much less complicated woman who owns her own house. I can quit putting my faith and convictions so high on the list of priorities and marry a nice liberal boy who doesn’t really like Jesus but loves the gays.
No. I stopped looking and began grieving. In the back of my head, I thought that God had a wonderful blessing in the place of my lifelong dream.
Two days later, my parents finally sold their house. Hallelujah! What a blessing! Maybe this wiggle room will allow them to begin visiting me and become involved in my life in some small way! I can have my family back!
Dad tithed on every penny made from the house.
A day after he wrote the last check, my sister tried to kill herself. Fuuuuuuck.
That week she moved into my parents’ house with her 3 sons. They began plans to build her a house right behind theirs (goodbye money). Our family finally accepted that she will never be stable or independent. She will live with them and depend on them for the rest of their lives.
I am heartbroken for my sister’s broken self. I worry for my nephews. I hurt with my parents. My biggest feeling is purely selfish: my quickly aging parents have no more resources, time, or energy to actively be a part of my life. She gets it all. She needs it all.
Really, God? That is how you bless us? I give up on my dream of a husband and family and you take away the availability of my existing family as well? My parents follow you faithfully and finally catch a break by selling their home and you can’t even allow them a full week of peace before snatching it all away? They let go of their dream of a happy, peaceful retirement and now struggle with more mouths to feed than they can afford and the ever-changing actions of an addict.*
To say the least, I’ve been pissed. Until a week or so ago, God and I only spoke in the presence of God’s children, like the dysfunctional marriage I may never have. Yes, I’ll pray when I need to lead others in prayer, but when it comes to my one on one time, fuck you. You are not faithful.
*I am fully aware that an outsider can read this differently: God gave my parents a bit of extra money just in time for my sister's big need. God is preparing my heart for blahblahblahblahblah. Screw you, people who see this a different way. It sucks.
August hit. I joined the sites. I was on the search for men who were husband material. It was ugly. Ugly, ugly, ugly. Nothing makes a single, liberal, tall, fat, smart, independent, emotionally stable(ish), minister feel lonely like realizing that not many men are looking for just that. Or anything near that. I found myself scouring three different sites for a glimmer of hope. I prayed. I researched. I planned to totally clean my house. “God? Is there any chance for me to find love?”
A few weeks later, I got an answer. Christians who have sought God’s will for a long time have their various ways of feeling God speak. In my way, God spoke. Clearly and without a doubt, God told me:
Stop looking.
That is all I got. I knew it wasn’t the kind of “stop looking” that meant the man of my dreams was already in my life. It was the kind of “stop looking” that meant it was time to let this dream go.
“Stop looking” came to me in August. I didn’t want to hear it. It wasn’t until the end of October that I began going back to God with this issue and finally saying okay. I stopped looking and began to accept the strong possibility that a husband and babies in my stomach were not for my life.
I was heartbroken. I am heartbroken. Broken heart or not, I knew that God’s voice is not one to be ignored. I can leave ministry any day and find a husband within months who wants to marry a much less complicated woman who owns her own house. I can quit putting my faith and convictions so high on the list of priorities and marry a nice liberal boy who doesn’t really like Jesus but loves the gays.
No. I stopped looking and began grieving. In the back of my head, I thought that God had a wonderful blessing in the place of my lifelong dream.
Two days later, my parents finally sold their house. Hallelujah! What a blessing! Maybe this wiggle room will allow them to begin visiting me and become involved in my life in some small way! I can have my family back!
Dad tithed on every penny made from the house.
A day after he wrote the last check, my sister tried to kill herself. Fuuuuuuck.
That week she moved into my parents’ house with her 3 sons. They began plans to build her a house right behind theirs (goodbye money). Our family finally accepted that she will never be stable or independent. She will live with them and depend on them for the rest of their lives.
I am heartbroken for my sister’s broken self. I worry for my nephews. I hurt with my parents. My biggest feeling is purely selfish: my quickly aging parents have no more resources, time, or energy to actively be a part of my life. She gets it all. She needs it all.
Really, God? That is how you bless us? I give up on my dream of a husband and family and you take away the availability of my existing family as well? My parents follow you faithfully and finally catch a break by selling their home and you can’t even allow them a full week of peace before snatching it all away? They let go of their dream of a happy, peaceful retirement and now struggle with more mouths to feed than they can afford and the ever-changing actions of an addict.*
To say the least, I’ve been pissed. Until a week or so ago, God and I only spoke in the presence of God’s children, like the dysfunctional marriage I may never have. Yes, I’ll pray when I need to lead others in prayer, but when it comes to my one on one time, fuck you. You are not faithful.
*I am fully aware that an outsider can read this differently: God gave my parents a bit of extra money just in time for my sister's big need. God is preparing my heart for blahblahblahblahblah. Screw you, people who see this a different way. It sucks.
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