I've added two new blogs to my little list. (not this list. My blogroll list.)
Jeremy is a libertarian-hearted Democrat in the midst of rampant Republicanism, which I respect beyond words. I enjoy his rants.
Janelle is a techno-savvy, chickfluff reading girl with pretty blue eyes who I know from my old singles ward. She also has some amusing rants that you may want to check out.
Oct 28, 2006
Listen to Jer
Jeremy Blanchard - I Won't Go Away
My extremely cool highschool (class of '98) classmate, and seminary buddy.
Ain't he good?
My extremely cool highschool (class of '98) classmate, and seminary buddy.
Ain't he good?
What, this old thing?
I sang in a recital this last Wednesday. The studio I take lessons with does a themed recital every two months. This month (October) is the "Halloween" recital. We're supposed to choose something scary or comic, and it is best if it's a character piece so that we can dress up. Traditionally, I have done funny stuff for this recital, not scary stuff. I did the Annie Get Your Gun bit three years ago, I did a song from Little Shop of Horrors, I did Huckleberry Fin (I, Huckleberry, Me from Big River)--
This year I didn't get to choose my song, because my teacher is making us do "music through the ages", where we learn about a different time period and the music and singing that happened then. It's been fun to re-learn some of this stuff (I minored in music, and so I took some music history classes), but it has been difficult to find a song appropriate for each month's theme AND each month's time period of focus.
For this last two-month installment, we studied the Romantic period (1800's.) Basically, the Romantic period plus humor= Gilbert and Sullivan, which I sort of like and sort of don't. At the beginning, I chose the song "As Someday It May Happen" from the Mikado.
The words go like this (watch out-- it's extremely politically incorrect. In fact, this version is even tamer than the original, which contained racial epithets.):
On that site, you'll notice that there are two other versions, made to fit more modern themes. Here's yet another one (also slightly offensive in the third verse, politically-speaking).
So, OK, I wrote my own version of these lyrics. Ready?(hopefully not quite as politically incorrect):
As someday it may happen that a victim must be found,
I've got a little list, I've got a little list
of society offenders who may well be underground
and who never would be missed, who never would be missed!
There's the loudmouthed commentators who aren't righteous as they seem,
they coin phrases that link womens' lib with male Fascist regime,
and then take their oxycotton far more often than they ought
parading propaganda that sounds great, until they're caught
wearing ties that cause more seizures than cysticercosis,
They never will be missed, I'm sure they'll not be missed.
There's the date who somehow grows eight hands and invites you to his place,
when first he has been kissed! I've got him on the list!
and all bimbos who chew doublemint and breathe it in your face,
I've got them on the list, they never will be missed!
and the idiots who came up with sizes zero, one and two,
who expect us to go traipsing 'round in eight-inch platform shoes
and all people who walk runways and have celery for lunch
and the people that they pay to give their stomachs extra "crunch"
and all jerk writers who were dissing female novelists,
they never will be missed, I'm sure they'd not be missed.
That's as far as I got-- I was going to do the last verse listing all those male jerk writers and their works, using Elizabeth Peters as a resource for the names, but this song just... ew. I mean, it's funny, but too acidic for me to feel comfortable singing, particularly in front of a bunch of elderly men and women.
So I asked to change my song two weeks ago to this:
Someone is giving me flowers.
Someone is giving me flowers,
Oh, what a sweet thing to do.
Every new day brings another bouquet
but I don't know who to say thank you to.
Sometimes they come through my window,
then down at the chimney, they fall.
Sometimes at night when I turn out the light,
they come through a crack in the wall.
Now that my house is a garden,
bursting with blossoms and blooms,
I stand here for hours, admiring my flowers
I'd like to sit down but there just isn't room.
First, they were sending me bluebells,
oddly enough, they were grey.
Each faded bloom had a nasty perfume;
besides being grey, they were paper mache.
next came a garland of fungus. Then, as a tropical treat,
they sent me a plant that proceeded to pant,
and later, began to eat meat.
The cactus corsage touched me deeply,
a marvelous plant, in it's prime.
I felt just the same when the rock garden came,
one rock at a time.
Somebody madly adores me. I know not whom to suspect,
but I cannot afford to be madly adored,
if they keep on sending me flowers collect.
So, fun. Anyway, the point of this crazy, rambling post:
I wore my red hat.
It's a beautiful, beautiful hat. When I bought it in Wal-Mart two years ago, an older lady was standing right next to me in front of the rack of red hats. (Yes, there is a rack of entirely red hats at our Wal-Mart-- don't ask me why). As I was examining possible red hats, she looked at me out of the corner of her eye. A few minutes later, she turned to me and asked, "Dear, are you a member of the Red Hat Society?"
I smiled like she was joking (although it was a sort of weird and random joke, if she was). But she was totally serious. The red hat society? What the crud?
I felt like I was in a spy movie or something.
I wore it at my wedding reception. (Ok, I admit I'm a bit eccentric.) Actually, I didn't plan on wearing it throughout the reception-- my sisters and I did a bit where we sang and had cool hats and gloves.
And then afterwards, Skywalker wanted to dance and I didn't have time to change back into my wedding dress, and then I just gave up and remained the lady in red all night.
I LOVED IT. It was a wedding reception dream come true-- no stuffy white dress, just RED. With a cool RED hat and RED gloves and swing dancing. Yay.
Anyway, this red hat is special to me, and I loved the fact that it got another go at this last recital. And afterward, a little old lady came up to me and said,
"Dear, that hat looks really good on you. You should wear it all the time!"
It was the best thing that everyone has ever said to me.
Well, one of the best things.
And yes, I am a member of the red hat society. Actually I'm not, but I plan to be someday, when I have the time.
Are you a member of the Red Hat Society?
This year I didn't get to choose my song, because my teacher is making us do "music through the ages", where we learn about a different time period and the music and singing that happened then. It's been fun to re-learn some of this stuff (I minored in music, and so I took some music history classes), but it has been difficult to find a song appropriate for each month's theme AND each month's time period of focus.
For this last two-month installment, we studied the Romantic period (1800's.) Basically, the Romantic period plus humor= Gilbert and Sullivan, which I sort of like and sort of don't. At the beginning, I chose the song "As Someday It May Happen" from the Mikado.
The words go like this (watch out-- it's extremely politically incorrect. In fact, this version is even tamer than the original, which contained racial epithets.):
On that site, you'll notice that there are two other versions, made to fit more modern themes. Here's yet another one (also slightly offensive in the third verse, politically-speaking).
So, OK, I wrote my own version of these lyrics. Ready?(hopefully not quite as politically incorrect):
As someday it may happen that a victim must be found,
I've got a little list, I've got a little list
of society offenders who may well be underground
and who never would be missed, who never would be missed!
There's the loudmouthed commentators who aren't righteous as they seem,
they coin phrases that link womens' lib with male Fascist regime,
and then take their oxycotton far more often than they ought
parading propaganda that sounds great, until they're caught
wearing ties that cause more seizures than cysticercosis,
They never will be missed, I'm sure they'll not be missed.
There's the date who somehow grows eight hands and invites you to his place,
when first he has been kissed! I've got him on the list!
and all bimbos who chew doublemint and breathe it in your face,
I've got them on the list, they never will be missed!
and the idiots who came up with sizes zero, one and two,
who expect us to go traipsing 'round in eight-inch platform shoes
and all people who walk runways and have celery for lunch
and the people that they pay to give their stomachs extra "crunch"
and all jerk writers who were dissing female novelists,
they never will be missed, I'm sure they'd not be missed.
That's as far as I got-- I was going to do the last verse listing all those male jerk writers and their works, using Elizabeth Peters as a resource for the names, but this song just... ew. I mean, it's funny, but too acidic for me to feel comfortable singing, particularly in front of a bunch of elderly men and women.
So I asked to change my song two weeks ago to this:
Someone is giving me flowers.
Someone is giving me flowers,
Oh, what a sweet thing to do.
Every new day brings another bouquet
but I don't know who to say thank you to.
Sometimes they come through my window,
then down at the chimney, they fall.
Sometimes at night when I turn out the light,
they come through a crack in the wall.
Now that my house is a garden,
bursting with blossoms and blooms,
I stand here for hours, admiring my flowers
I'd like to sit down but there just isn't room.
First, they were sending me bluebells,
oddly enough, they were grey.
Each faded bloom had a nasty perfume;
besides being grey, they were paper mache.
next came a garland of fungus. Then, as a tropical treat,
they sent me a plant that proceeded to pant,
and later, began to eat meat.
The cactus corsage touched me deeply,
a marvelous plant, in it's prime.
I felt just the same when the rock garden came,
one rock at a time.
Somebody madly adores me. I know not whom to suspect,
but I cannot afford to be madly adored,
if they keep on sending me flowers collect.
So, fun. Anyway, the point of this crazy, rambling post:
I wore my red hat.
It's a beautiful, beautiful hat. When I bought it in Wal-Mart two years ago, an older lady was standing right next to me in front of the rack of red hats. (Yes, there is a rack of entirely red hats at our Wal-Mart-- don't ask me why). As I was examining possible red hats, she looked at me out of the corner of her eye. A few minutes later, she turned to me and asked, "Dear, are you a member of the Red Hat Society?"
I smiled like she was joking (although it was a sort of weird and random joke, if she was). But she was totally serious. The red hat society? What the crud?
I felt like I was in a spy movie or something.
I wore it at my wedding reception. (Ok, I admit I'm a bit eccentric.) Actually, I didn't plan on wearing it throughout the reception-- my sisters and I did a bit where we sang and had cool hats and gloves.
And then afterwards, Skywalker wanted to dance and I didn't have time to change back into my wedding dress, and then I just gave up and remained the lady in red all night.
I LOVED IT. It was a wedding reception dream come true-- no stuffy white dress, just RED. With a cool RED hat and RED gloves and swing dancing. Yay.
Anyway, this red hat is special to me, and I loved the fact that it got another go at this last recital. And afterward, a little old lady came up to me and said,
"Dear, that hat looks really good on you. You should wear it all the time!"
It was the best thing that everyone has ever said to me.
Well, one of the best things.
And yes, I am a member of the red hat society. Actually I'm not, but I plan to be someday, when I have the time.
Are you a member of the Red Hat Society?
Oct 19, 2006
An experiment in wheatgrass
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Really cool website.
Have you heard of the photographer who finds look-alikes who are unrelated, and then photographs them? Here are some of his pictures. Isn't that fun?
Oct 14, 2006
Extremely Funny Story.
Just thought I'd share.
If tampon stories embarrass you, skip the three vignettes and move on to the story.
If tampon stories embarrass you, skip the three vignettes and move on to the story.
old hurts, dark relfections
I've had a fairly unusual life, I think as a product of Mormon culture.
Can I just vent for a paragraph or Seven?
My life right now is so wonderful. So much better than it has been for several years. I mean, I've always been happy, I've always felt the support of friends and family and God lifting me and adding to what I can do, so that I don't make any heinous mistakes or neglect anyone really, really important.
But these last two years, life has become, well, just about as amazing as I always thought it should be. This is due in large part to Skywalker's coming into my life.
Let me back up.
I got married at 19, to a man I had known for a couple of years, dated for 8 months, and had been engaged to for another 8 months. He was a wonderful person. As far as I know, he always has been and always will be a wonderful person-- a wonderful person with a sickness known as an addiction.
From the time he was very young, (let's call him Onionboy, that's a name that he has applied to himself before), Onionboy has been struggling with an addiction. Yes, pornography-- that's one of the addictions that he battled. But I mean, younger than that.
When he was seven, he first started playing video games. He spent all of his free time, as far as I know from what he has told me of his childhood, involved in the world of defying dragons and rescuing princess and typing just the right phrase in that yellow colored analog typing to get the right thing to happen to the heroes of his digital world.
His friends-- they were video game fanatics as well. The time they spent together was all eating, sleeping, and video games. His cousin, who was his closest and most enduring friend growing up, was also a video game fanatic. In addition, he collected action figures. He still adores power rangers, X-men, etcetera. I mean, it's a harmless habit, right?
Sometimes it's harmless, and sometimes it's not. I know of three specific cases where families have split up over videogames.
Mine is not one of them-- I would have tried to make things work if he hadn't tried to do away with me while I was pregnant with Loli. Yes, you read that right. No, I'm not being overdramatic, no I'm not lying to you. The situation still seems so absurd to me. We were living a normal life (as far as I knew), were fairly happy except for the odd outburst he would have on occasion where he would act really wierd... And that fact that sometimes he was controlling, bordering on emotionally abusive, and all.
Three Octobers ago, when our lives came apart, Onionboy not only admitted to having had a long-standing porn addiction (and when I say addiction, I'm not being trite-- we're talking several times a day, interfering with his life, neglecting our daughter for hours-on-end, lying desperately about our finances, addiction), he also told me that he had tried to kill me several times while I was pregnant with Loli, because he wanted to "live a different lifestyle" than the one he had with me.
Does that sound a little like a video game to you? Something's in your way. The logical solution? Kill it.
The aftermath is still hazy to me. I spent hours and hours driving around listening to that cheesy set of hymns on tape that is recorded for chapels that have no piano. I drove up to a certain peak on several occasions and just looked out over the city, thinking. I spent time in the temple, just letting the comfort wash over me.
I was numb, just plain emotionally gone, for several months. And then it slowly started creeping back, one excruciating memory, feeling, hurt, at a time. I had a therapist who thought I was being a baby because I was devastated to have to put Loli in childcare-- I don't know why I couldn't help her understand what I was feeling, how scared I was to trust someone after my absolute trust had been so blatantly violated.
In the midst of all this, I had good friends who stuck by me, who let me be eccentric and emotionally broken, even unreasonable. They saved me, along with Christ and the comfort of the Spirit, of course.
But then, I ran up against some less tolerant people, too... These are the ones I'm still struggling with sometimes.
My bishop at the time was a new bishop. When I told him I felt I had received an answer from Heavenly Father that I needed to pursue a course of divorce instead of reconciliation, he told me he thought I should think about it more. At the same time, my mom was telling me (as any good mom would) that she would NOT let me get back with Onionboy, if she could do anything to prevent it.
My bishop also told me that I was not following the Spirit when I began to pursue the termination of parental rights, even though Onionboy seemed just fine with it. He said that "[Onionboy] would have every right to be really angry later because you've denied him his daughter." This at the same time my mom is telling me, "[nosurfgirl]-- let's face it. He's torn up his daddy card."
There's a lot involved in the story of Loli and her natural father that I still don't have the answers to-- all I know is that I went ahead with the termination, and my bishop later apologized for his behavior.
But I had (and to some degree, still have) a patent distrust of preisthood leaders; bishops, more specifically.
Ironically, it was a singles-ward bishop who helped me find the courage to date again, and who moved mountains to help Skywalker and I along when we decided to get married.
It's a long story, why I began attending a singles ward instead of the family ward that I tried for 8 months. Too long for this already long and convoluted post.
That singles ward was another excruciating experience-- not all because of those in the ward. Some of it was definitely because of me. I just didn't fit in with them, at all. I was a mom, who had to watch her hyper child run up and down aisles, who didn't have time to primp in the morning beyond a little makeup and a hairdryer. I didn't flirt-- it felt ridiculous under the circumstances.
I didn't trust the girl or two who would try and buddy up with me-- because it was after Skywalker and I started dating. From some girls, I felt rays of "you don't belong here, you've already had your chance," or, "you're damaged goods, stop lookin' at our boys," or even "your poor daughter. Too bad her mom is so messed up."
let me stand on my mile-high soap box and say it, here and now:
I AM A WONDERFUL, TACTLESS, CARING, IMPERFECT, CAPABLE, SCARED-SHOOTLESS, FUNNY, TRAUMATIZED, STRONG, NAIVE, TALENTED, DEFENISVE, WISE, OPINIONATED PERSON OF DEEP INTEGRITY AND
YOU
MISSED
OUT.
my husband was smarter than all y'all combined. I mean, there are a few exceptions. In fact, a lot of exceptions. I'm sure that a lot of the people didn't know what to do with me, just as much as I didn't know what to do with them... and some were friendly with me in the face of my odd situation and sometimes-defensiveness.
I was so scared that people would think I was a predatory female out to find a daddy for her half-orphaned child that I kept myself at arms-length from everyone. Even some of my family, which I partly regret, and partly don't-- because let's face it.
nobody understands.
Except Christ. And maybe other women who've been through the same thing.
But love is amazing, you know? I think that Skywalker is an amazing person-- he broke through that mile-high defense. He wasn't discouraged by the barbed-wire. Heck, he was even pricked a couple of times, but he kept on, and, well, I hope I've made it up to him.
I think I have. If I know anything about myself, now, it's that I'm a very emotionally stable person, who is capable of making those around her happy, even in the worst of situations.
And so now, that is my continuing, lifelong goal-- to be the one willing to get pricked. To risk myself again, now that I have a safe place to return to. Skywalker, you are my inspiration-- thank you for all that you have done for me.
Can I just vent for a paragraph or Seven?
My life right now is so wonderful. So much better than it has been for several years. I mean, I've always been happy, I've always felt the support of friends and family and God lifting me and adding to what I can do, so that I don't make any heinous mistakes or neglect anyone really, really important.
But these last two years, life has become, well, just about as amazing as I always thought it should be. This is due in large part to Skywalker's coming into my life.
Let me back up.
I got married at 19, to a man I had known for a couple of years, dated for 8 months, and had been engaged to for another 8 months. He was a wonderful person. As far as I know, he always has been and always will be a wonderful person-- a wonderful person with a sickness known as an addiction.
From the time he was very young, (let's call him Onionboy, that's a name that he has applied to himself before), Onionboy has been struggling with an addiction. Yes, pornography-- that's one of the addictions that he battled. But I mean, younger than that.
When he was seven, he first started playing video games. He spent all of his free time, as far as I know from what he has told me of his childhood, involved in the world of defying dragons and rescuing princess and typing just the right phrase in that yellow colored analog typing to get the right thing to happen to the heroes of his digital world.
His friends-- they were video game fanatics as well. The time they spent together was all eating, sleeping, and video games. His cousin, who was his closest and most enduring friend growing up, was also a video game fanatic. In addition, he collected action figures. He still adores power rangers, X-men, etcetera. I mean, it's a harmless habit, right?
Sometimes it's harmless, and sometimes it's not. I know of three specific cases where families have split up over videogames.
Mine is not one of them-- I would have tried to make things work if he hadn't tried to do away with me while I was pregnant with Loli. Yes, you read that right. No, I'm not being overdramatic, no I'm not lying to you. The situation still seems so absurd to me. We were living a normal life (as far as I knew), were fairly happy except for the odd outburst he would have on occasion where he would act really wierd... And that fact that sometimes he was controlling, bordering on emotionally abusive, and all.
Three Octobers ago, when our lives came apart, Onionboy not only admitted to having had a long-standing porn addiction (and when I say addiction, I'm not being trite-- we're talking several times a day, interfering with his life, neglecting our daughter for hours-on-end, lying desperately about our finances, addiction), he also told me that he had tried to kill me several times while I was pregnant with Loli, because he wanted to "live a different lifestyle" than the one he had with me.
Does that sound a little like a video game to you? Something's in your way. The logical solution? Kill it.
The aftermath is still hazy to me. I spent hours and hours driving around listening to that cheesy set of hymns on tape that is recorded for chapels that have no piano. I drove up to a certain peak on several occasions and just looked out over the city, thinking. I spent time in the temple, just letting the comfort wash over me.
I was numb, just plain emotionally gone, for several months. And then it slowly started creeping back, one excruciating memory, feeling, hurt, at a time. I had a therapist who thought I was being a baby because I was devastated to have to put Loli in childcare-- I don't know why I couldn't help her understand what I was feeling, how scared I was to trust someone after my absolute trust had been so blatantly violated.
In the midst of all this, I had good friends who stuck by me, who let me be eccentric and emotionally broken, even unreasonable. They saved me, along with Christ and the comfort of the Spirit, of course.
But then, I ran up against some less tolerant people, too... These are the ones I'm still struggling with sometimes.
My bishop at the time was a new bishop. When I told him I felt I had received an answer from Heavenly Father that I needed to pursue a course of divorce instead of reconciliation, he told me he thought I should think about it more. At the same time, my mom was telling me (as any good mom would) that she would NOT let me get back with Onionboy, if she could do anything to prevent it.
My bishop also told me that I was not following the Spirit when I began to pursue the termination of parental rights, even though Onionboy seemed just fine with it. He said that "[Onionboy] would have every right to be really angry later because you've denied him his daughter." This at the same time my mom is telling me, "[nosurfgirl]-- let's face it. He's torn up his daddy card."
There's a lot involved in the story of Loli and her natural father that I still don't have the answers to-- all I know is that I went ahead with the termination, and my bishop later apologized for his behavior.
But I had (and to some degree, still have) a patent distrust of preisthood leaders; bishops, more specifically.
Ironically, it was a singles-ward bishop who helped me find the courage to date again, and who moved mountains to help Skywalker and I along when we decided to get married.
It's a long story, why I began attending a singles ward instead of the family ward that I tried for 8 months. Too long for this already long and convoluted post.
That singles ward was another excruciating experience-- not all because of those in the ward. Some of it was definitely because of me. I just didn't fit in with them, at all. I was a mom, who had to watch her hyper child run up and down aisles, who didn't have time to primp in the morning beyond a little makeup and a hairdryer. I didn't flirt-- it felt ridiculous under the circumstances.
I didn't trust the girl or two who would try and buddy up with me-- because it was after Skywalker and I started dating. From some girls, I felt rays of "you don't belong here, you've already had your chance," or, "you're damaged goods, stop lookin' at our boys," or even "your poor daughter. Too bad her mom is so messed up."
let me stand on my mile-high soap box and say it, here and now:
I AM A WONDERFUL, TACTLESS, CARING, IMPERFECT, CAPABLE, SCARED-SHOOTLESS, FUNNY, TRAUMATIZED, STRONG, NAIVE, TALENTED, DEFENISVE, WISE, OPINIONATED PERSON OF DEEP INTEGRITY AND
YOU
MISSED
OUT.
my husband was smarter than all y'all combined. I mean, there are a few exceptions. In fact, a lot of exceptions. I'm sure that a lot of the people didn't know what to do with me, just as much as I didn't know what to do with them... and some were friendly with me in the face of my odd situation and sometimes-defensiveness.
I was so scared that people would think I was a predatory female out to find a daddy for her half-orphaned child that I kept myself at arms-length from everyone. Even some of my family, which I partly regret, and partly don't-- because let's face it.
nobody understands.
Except Christ. And maybe other women who've been through the same thing.
But love is amazing, you know? I think that Skywalker is an amazing person-- he broke through that mile-high defense. He wasn't discouraged by the barbed-wire. Heck, he was even pricked a couple of times, but he kept on, and, well, I hope I've made it up to him.
I think I have. If I know anything about myself, now, it's that I'm a very emotionally stable person, who is capable of making those around her happy, even in the worst of situations.
And so now, that is my continuing, lifelong goal-- to be the one willing to get pricked. To risk myself again, now that I have a safe place to return to. Skywalker, you are my inspiration-- thank you for all that you have done for me.
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