BLOG HAS MOVED!!

Hey folks!! I braved Wordpress and switched my blog to a new address. From now on please look for posts at:

www.gypsygibbsy.wordpress.com

Seeya there!

Hello, again.

Why, hello again, pent up nervous excited energy. It's been awhile. So glad you're making a reappearance after being gone for the past 8 months.

Oh god, really?

Wow.

I don't know about you, but there's nothing more tragic/funny/mind-numbing than finding out people that have only known each other six months are getting married.

I understand that you are 23 and think that what you're feeling is significant and different than anything you've felt before...but getting married is not the way to prove to her friends that you meant it when you said, "I'll never cheat on her again. Like, I mean it this time."

The state of marriage in America is so unhealthy it amazes me that anyone bothers to even try anymore. Were it not for every woman's dream of being a bride, and every guy's relief at the tax cuts it will bring, I don't believe marriage would be high on ANY thinking person's priority list.

Say what you will about "love" being the reason people want to get married - but I for one plan on LOVE being the thing that keeps me with my significant other and not some $45 piece of paper and fear of divorce papers from my lawyer.

So, ya think you want to date online...

I've wanted to write something about this subject for a looooong time. So. Without further ado. (Note, this is going to be a helluva long post.)

I haven't made it a secret that I've used online dating in the past. When I moved to Portland I only knew one person - literally - just ONE - and he, to put it nicely, was an asshat. I was starting a job as a nanny that offered little to no connection with anyone my age and I was living in Family-ville Beaverton...about 15 miles from downtown Portland. I figured joining an online dating site (Match.com to be specific) was just as good a way as any to meet people - and wouldn't it be a pleasant surprise if I met someone worth dating? Well yes. That would have been a pleasant surprise. Over the course of the number of months I was on it, I met several truly fabulous men- none of whom I connected with in the necessary way to begin a relationship, but became friends with all the same.

I will soon be moving to Seattle. Thankfully, this is a city where I know more people than I did when I moved Portland - and one of my bestest friends EVER already lives there.

Grand total of people my age I know in Seattle: 12.
Number of those people I'd even remotely consider hanging out with: 4. Including said best friend.

While certainly an improvement, it is still a relatively small number of people to be acquainted with.

So I find myself joining the online dating realm once again. As per a friend's advice, I'm forgo-ing Match (which is predominantly filled with twenty somethings looking to buy a house, find a wife, adopt a lab named Sam, and drive a nice mid-sized sedan - nothing wrong with this...it is just the farthest thing I could imagine myself signing on for right now - or ever.) Instead, I made a profile for Lovelab, on The Stranger website.

The Stranger is Seattle's version of The Mercury (or vice versa). It is a free weekly alternative arts and culture newspaper. Its version of a dating profile is unlike any I've seen, and in short, is right up my alley - as are a number of the men and women signed up for it. It asks unusual questions, that while odd, if answered honestly give a unique and humorous insight into the kind of person you are dealing with. I can safely say that although many of the guys don't fit my prefered demographic for dating, some certainly do, and many do for friendships. Anyways. I'll stop defending my presence on the site. I'm having fun and making connections. I'm jazzed.

In short - previous and current experiences combined - I believe I have seen and learned enough to offer some constructive advice to any girl considering joining this site (as well as a few words to the men already registered.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

1.) People lie on their profile. Be aware of this. Men and women tend to lie about different things.

*Women: lie about their weight. Sorry honey, if you are 5'2 and 250lbs - you are not "Average."
Be proud of being big and beautiful - do NOT post pictures of yourself 30,50, 70 lbs thinner. Yes, your personality may be phenomenal - but your personality is attached to your body. Do yourself, and the guys a favor by being honest. They aren't being an asshole if they don't want to see you again after meeting - you lied about something pretty damn important from the get-go.

*Men: lie about their height, income, and often, hair: (I'll only address height - because to be honest, I don't care about the other two.) More than anything, dudes lie about height. Unless his height is over 6', I always subtract at least one to two inches from what they claim. I've yet to be wrong on this. Like women know a common standard of beauty=thin, men know a common standard of attractiveness= tall.
Not all women, but many, myself included, will date a man her height if she really likes his personality/face/humor etc...we will date our height. Not shorter.
So men - save us and yourself some time and be honest about your height (and for that matter, your income and bald spot.)

2.) This suggestion piggy backs on numero uno. Unless he is just crazy crafty - and is looking for a girl with a heart of gold that would love him whether he looked like Brad Pitt or Quasimodo - there is a reason he hasn't posted pictures of himself where you can see his face clearly. Same for women.
Online dating is glorified window shopping for a mate. People aren't stupid. If they are aware they are not conventionally good looking, in 4 out of 5 cases they will post pictures in which it's impossible to get a good idea of what they look like.
What is unfortunate, is usually these people are totally kick ass (well...that, or are total freaks) - but it goes back to number one. In my mind, not showing clear and accurate pictures of yourself is as bad as lying about what you do look like. You're banking on hooking someone with your amazing humor and wit - and then praying to god they don't run for the hills when you meet. It's just not fair. Be honest. If you can't find a date with an accurate picture - don't post 10 pictures of fields you've hiked, your motorcycle, or your cat.

3.) Speaking of cats, guys that post as many (or more) pictures of their cat as they do themselves are usually weirdos. Guys that post one or two pictures of their dog, along with pictures of themselves, are usually cool.

4.) Some people (both men and women) are just online looking for sex. Fine- whatever - I don't really care, but it'd be nice if they'd be more upfront about their intentions. Ladies, if you are not looking for quick sex, here are a few ways to recognize guys that are:

a. They are very picky about what they are looking for physically in a woman.
b. They say they're "not sure if they're looking for anything serious right now."
c. They throw out sexual innuendo on their profile, or early and often right after you begin talking with each other.
d. They blatantly say they love sex. (Um, yes, thank you- we all love sex. That's a given. It doesn't need to be said.)
e. They have pictures of themselves flexing without their shirts on (well...these types could also just be immature and lacking class or original thought...)

Obviously there are exceptions to every rule. But all of these combined in one profile is usually fairly telling.

5.) If he/she says they recently got out of a long term relationship - they either have an inability to be alone, or they're looking for a rebound.

6.) For the love of Mike, if they openly say they are shy, selfish, arrogant, short-tempered ("fiery"), love porn, drink a lot, sleep a lot, dislike sports - believe them. Even if any of those things are followed by smiley or winky faces - they are usually being serious. If you are not ok with any of the traits he lists for himself either change your mind, or keep looking. It's not fair to get into a relationship looking to change someone, especially if they were honest about their personality from the beginning.

7.) If a person does not spell/grammar check their profile and emails - it means something. Keep looking.

8.) Once you've started corresponding with someone, if you're interested in each other, set up a date to meet as soon as possible.
Everyone is at their best and brightest over email. Meet quickly. This keeps you from the inevitable emotional attachment and the pie-in-the-sky hopes they are exactly the same in real life. They're never the same. But, when you're lucky, they're better :)

9.) As an unapologetically, completely maternal piece of advice: Let someone know where you're meeting this person and who they are.
I completely defend online dating - but dear god, there's some freaks out there. Don't be a Dateline special.

Alright, that's "all" I can think of for now. As time goes on, there will likely be more to come....Cheers.

Love for Contagious Words

I'm an impressionable person. If I'm around someone who uses a word or phrase prolifically - it will be a matter of days before I too am yelling it out as if it was my first word.

When a phrase I "coined" or began saying out of sheer pleasure for the way it fell from my lips is picked up by another person and used in conversation around me - I'm thrilled.

I have spread the word "jazzed" around like a bad cold. My friends say it, my employers say it, and as of tonight - someone with whom I've never physically spoken used it in an email after only being in correspondence with me for 2 days.

I'm. so. jazzed.

Works in Progress

The darkness is starting to lift. The soles of my feet dragging away from a life I thought I'd never leave ignited a spark that is becoming a flame.
Flickers of hope dance across the deep blue waters that surround me here
and cast dancing shadows on these walls -darkly illuminating a smile that is reaching my eyes after making my lips a false plaything for so long.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'm genuinely excited to visit Portland this weekend. Not long before I moved out, three truly lovely souls moved into Hoyt House. Although I got to know them on a decent level - sharing bottles of booze, artistic hopes, and the occasional emotional outburst- I believe it's fair to say the girl that is returning Sunday is not the one who left - nor the one they met in June.

To think that I'll be meeting them again without being shrouded in the thick veil of sadness that clung to me for so many months...well, that's something to look forward to.

Not that I have no misgivings about visiting. I'll be entering Hoyt House with caution. The energies that reside in that house - and their ever raging battle for dominance - bring out the best and worst in me. I can only hope that my exit has done the house as much good as it has done me...and that I'm not entering a battlefield.

We shall see.

It needs to be said...

Ok. I'll admit it. One of my more glaring intense faults is the ease with which I let friendships go. I have the worst "Staying In Touch" skills of anyone I've ever met. When you combine my intense dislike for talking on the phone with having the kind of personality that makes friends quickly, I'll move and before I know it three months has gone by and I haven't picked up the phone to call someone who I used to consider a close friend.

This being said - it's only fair to point out the fact that it takes TWO people to make a friendship endure a distance and because I'm willing to own up to my poor communication skills, I frequently get the blame when a friend and I lose touch. I'm effing sick of it. The next time someone gets an attitude with me for "not staying in touch" or "being too busy" when they haven't made the effort to pick up the phone in 6 months either I am going to unleash verbal fire and brimstone upon them. It's the equivalent of copping an attitude with your car for dying when you didn't bother to fill the gas tank in 2 months. UGH. I'm so over being the bad guy in these situations.

That is all...

An open letter to The Giving Tree

I could not get this book out of my head tonight....and felt the need to write about it. Here's the story in case you've forgotten the details:

The Giving Tree
by Shel Silverstein

Once there was a tree..... and she loved a little boy. And every day the boy would come and he would gather her leaves and make them into crowns and play king of the forest. He would climb up her trunk and swing from her branches and eat apples. And they would play hide-and-go-seek. And when he was tired, he would sleep in her shade. And the boy loved the tree.......very much. And the tree was happy.

But time went by. And the boy grew older. And the tree was often alone. Then one day the boy came to the tree and the tree said, "Come, Boy, come and climb up my trunk and swing from my branches and eat apples and play in my shade and be happy."

"I am too big to climb and play," said the boy. "I want to buy things and have fun. I want some money. Can you give me some money?"

"I'm sorry," said the tree, "but I have no money, I have only leaves and apples. Take my apples, Boy, and sell them in the city. Then you will have money and you will be happy."

And so the boy climbed up the tree and gathered her apples and carried them away. And the tree was happy.

But the boy stayed away for a long time... and the tree was sad. And then one day the boy came back and the tree shook with joy and she said, "Come, Boy, climb up my trunk and swing from my branches and be happy."

"I am too busy to climb trees," said the boy. "I want a house to keep me warm. I want a wife and I want children, and so I need a house. Can you give me a house?"

"I have no house," said the tree. "The forest is my house, but you may cut off my branches and build a house. Then you will be happy." And the boy cut off her branches and carried them away to build his house. And the tree was happy.

But the boy stayed away for a long time. And when he came back, the tree was so happy she could hardly speak. "Come, Boy," she whispered, "Come and play."

“I am too old and sad to play," said the boy. "I want a boat that can take me far away from here. Can you give me a boat?"

"Cut down my trunk and make a boat," said the tree. "Then you can sail away...... and be happy." And so the boy cut down her trunk and made a boat and sailed away.

And the tree was happy.... but not really.

And after a long time the boy came back again.

"I am sorry, Boy," said the tree, "but I have nothing left to give you. My apples are gone."
"My teeth are too weak for apples," said the boy.
"My branches are gone," said the tree. "You cannot swing on them.”
"I am too old to swing on branches," said the boy.
"My trunk is gone," said the tree. "You cannot climb."
"I am too tired to climb," said the boy. "I am sorry," sighed the tree. "I wish that I could give you something------ but I have nothing left. I am just an old stump."
"I don't need very much now," said the boy. "just a quiet place to sit and rest. I am very tired."
"Well," said the tree, straightening herself up as much as she could, "Well, an old stump is good for sitting and resting. Come, Boy, sit down. Sit down and rest." And the boy did.

And the tree was happy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'm not quite sure what brought this story into my mind this evening, but once it was there, I couldn't stop thinking about it.

I have warring memories of this book from childhood. On one side, I have the very charming, eye clouding nostalgic memory of adoring this story for the simple black and white illustrations that so beautifully exemplify the concept of self sacrificing love.

On the other side, I have the vivid memory of an indignant, overly sensitive 8 year old me fighting back tears as I hollered at my mom - "The Boy didn't DESERVE the Tree. How could he be so....so....SELFISH?! How could he cut! her! down!"

To be honest, knowing me, the latter is probably the accurate memory, and all warm fuzzy feelings connected with the story came about from later readings - but for whatever reason, I remembered the story tonight and was really troubled by it...and felt the need to write what my freshman English teacher called, "an emotional response," to sort it out before going to bed.


An Open Letter to the Tree:


Dear Ms. Tree:


Thank you for your cautionary tale. On behalf of all women who have been used by a man until they are little else than a lonely desperate lump, I feel your pain. I know what it's like to experience the honeymoon phase of a relationship - full of games, sharing, and laughter...the days all drifting together into one beautiful stretch of contentment that you naively believe will never end.
But as you know, they always do.
I too know the feelings of longing while you watch the boy, turned man, that used to enjoy only you- find joy in someone new...and the inner shivers of excitement and hope that course through you when they return in a moment of weakness.
Like yourself, I gladly offered my support and love hoping that I would find happiness in his joy - even if it was without me.
But I'm writing this letter to tell you in case no one ever has: The Boy was an ungrateful asshole. You deserve so much better than a man-child who used and ravaged you until there was nothing left of yourself for you to enjoy. You could have grown mighty and tall long ago. Given life to so many more thankful, kind people - had not your emotions and inability to let go of the past blinded you to your potential.
By the time you receive this letter, the Boy will most certainly have died. Good riddance. Please do not mourn the loss of said ingrate another day. Your story has inspired me to put an end to pathetic attempts at self sacrifice in hopes of winning back lost love - and I write this letter to remind you that tomorrow is a new day - and you have the ability to grow again and reach heights previously unattainable while pining after a dumb male. Your kind and giving demeanor will most definitely attract the right sort of man this time around - as long as you remember to respect yourself and not settle for the first thing that wants to climb your trunk and eat your apples.
Thank you again for sharing your story of years lost. Although I hurt for you that you suffered countless lonely nights, I rest in the wisdom of your age that you will do things differently this time around - and keep sharing your story in hopes that future women will avoid wasting their talents and gifts on awful boys.

All the best,
Esther

A Parting Ramble...

I know I will write more about Hoyt House...but these were some rambling lines I jotted down...and left on the fridge before I left today.

And we're all orphans in these rooms.
Wandering hopeful children we came here to mend what is
beyond repair, in search of the illusive muse we've heard
feels like "belonging."

And we've met Heartbreak on these streets and passed
Redemption on these bridges. Smiled with Despair and made
Chance our lover.

Drawn to each other through fate or karma -
our lives writing stories of truths and regret.

Nights composed of sighs and laughter melted down to a
slow steady note
keeping time with the beat from Burnside.
We're creating - building - praying to Art or whoever will listen
we're crossing bridges not easily burned.

And as the door closes behind me - it swings on hinges forged of
memory and Hope.

It's a sad sorry state of affairs, Batman.

You know you are having a rough night when a 20 year old homeless kid who has only eaten three times in the past week and girlfriend is breaking up with him tells you, "It's going to be ok. Things will get better." And when later thanked for the comfort says with a shake of his head, "You just looked so broken."

Circles of Hell

It's gotta be said: Dante was amiss in not including a tenth circle of hell.

Tenth Circle: Full of the wandering discontent Nomads of the earth. Their punishment? Eternally packing never ending ripping boxes of useless shit they "might need one day."

Love for Pinky Toes and Sleeping In

I was very excited last night because I had a random day off today and was going to have the opportunity to sleep in this morning. As is custom at Hoyt House, one of us having the next day off is a good enough reason to convince everyone to drink like they have the next day off - and we commenced early and went late. I wandered up to bed at some ungodly hour - stopping off in the bathroom to brush my teeth.

Not quite sure how, but in the relatively short time I was in the bathroom I managed to slice my left pinky toe to an alarming degree and not notice at all (thank you PBR - the poor man's anesthetic.) I got into bed and started to get comfortable when I noticed a throbbing in my foot. After reaching down to investigate, I turned the bedside light on to find my hand covered in blood.

Not extremely concerned, I limped to the bathroom and stuck my whole leg in the sink since I had managed to smear red goo (yeah - goo - not just blood) all the way up to my knee. After cleaning it off, I realized the source of all the gore was the tip of my toe- which looked like it was seriously considering falling off. If I still had my camera (next blog will be the story of its tragic death) I would take a picture of it to post.

Anyways, had I been sober, I would have realized that something as serious as a trip to the ER for stiches might be in order - but not wanting to deal with getting out of my PJ's, I puckered a baby round bandaid on the end of it after it stopped bleeding and called it a night.

To bring this anecdote full circle - I limped back to bed and instantly fell into a deep dreamless sleep - only to be woken up at 8am by the feeling of something trying to tear the end of my foot off. Nothing of the sort was actually happening - but in my haste to secure the tip of my toe back on, I hadn't done a bang up job applying the bandaid and it came off in my sleep - leaving my poor toe exposed and once again, bleeding.

With my ravaged toe, blinding headache, bruised shin (another mysterious injury), and raging morning heat all competing for dominance, I gave up the fight to fall back asleep after about 15 minutes and started my day.

Truly truly, there is no rest for the wicked.

*Side bar~ In lieu of a 9 hour wait in the ER for a "hurt toe" I am going to let it heal naturally and have a story to tell about my effed up looking little piggie.

Love for Comfort

In case you haven't noticed - the extremely trendy "Maxi Dresses" you see flitting down every street....

...are nightgowns you can wear in public. Not only can a woman wear this and be insanely comfortable and keep cool- but she can wear one and expect to be complimented on her "adorable dress." In past summers, if someone my age was caught going out in one of these they would have been stared and snickered at for wearing a glorified mumu .

Point being, if you are expecting to see me wearing anything else while this ungodly hot weather continues (and possibly even when winter comes) you will be sadly dissapointed.

Just a rant.

If you live in Portland and have kids, know anyone that has kids, work with kids, or possibly kidnapped a child for the day - you were at the Oregon Zoo last Wednesday morning. From now on, whenever I hear the phrase, "It was a zoo in there!" I will instantly associate it with the mayhem that I experienced there this past week.

Now, it's not uncommon for the zoo to be busy on a nice day in Portland. Wednesday was not only a nice day - but it was the FIRST nice day after about a week and a half of rainy days, it was pay day for many, and *Drum roll* the PBS Kids show Between the Lions was performing 3 live shows all before 1 pm.

I arrived to the zoo parking lot a mere three minutes after the zoo was scheduled to open. After racing three minivans, two suvs, and one god awful huge truck thru the lot of compact car spaces, I squeeeezed into one of the only remaining available parking spots at the very back of the lot.

For the first time ever, I decided to forgo the bane of my existence (a.k.a. the double stroller) and storm the zoo armed only with a backpack of snacks, diapers, water, and my own two (already sweaty) hands. This. Was. A. Horrible. Mistake.

We trekked across the lot only to arrive at the entrance to the zoo where every line - all eight of them - was backed up so far people were waiting in the loading zones in the parking lot. Looking around at the other parents' faces I realized I was not alone in my belief that the gates in front of me were actually leading to the mouth of hell - not a fun filled morning with the kids.

Cursing every person who ever felt the need to remind me how lucky I am to have such an easy job, I got in line. Within seconds, there was a troop of six more behind us: 2 six year old boys (twins), 1 young girl (probably 8 or so), a frazzled mom, and a grouchy grandma pushing a screaming shoe throwing 2 year old.

I inched forward, attempting -unsuccessfully - to gain a foot of much needed personal space from the madness behind me. Apparently I need to work on my stink eye, because whatever look I was shooting over my shoulder at the grandma pushing the stroller so far forward she was on the back of my flip flop, was NOT working.

Discontent with merely irritating me through poor stroller driving, bitch grandma made it personal by attempting to push me out of the line and cut in front of me not five minutes later. At this, I grasped Noah and Hayden's slippery hands firmly and said loudly enough for her to hear, " Step forward boys - WE're in this line, too."

Hoping I had made my point (passive) aggressively enough, I bent down to get the boy's sippy cups out of the bag. No sooner had I taken her out of my range of sight, said awful human being pushed forward AGAIN trying to force me out of line.

I shot up and spun around, opening my mouth (fully preparing to say something worth getting fired over) but before I could get anything out, the little 8 year old turned to the bitch with the stroller and said, "Grandma - be careful - we don't want to cut in front of them!"

Polite kids rock my socks. Especially when they have such poor examples of common decency to learn from. It never ceases to amaze me when I meet a rude old person who expects respect merely because they've managed to stay alive so long. The idea that they deserve leniency in their old age, and that their impolite behavior should be excused, is ludicrous. The elderly, of all people, have had more time on this planet to learn the value of kindness and patience.

Thankfully, Grandma was shamed into a grudging courtesy, and I spent the remaining 15 minutes in line only having to worry about the wild animals attached to my own two arms.

I could labor the nightmare the rest of the morning at the zoo was - but I won't. At the end of the day, the stress of the outing was balanced out by the fact the boys were so exhausted they crashed out for three simultaneous hours and I got to mellow out and regain my sanity. Thank goodness for naps.

And...I'm done.

Thank you Douglas Wood!

In my line of work I read many many many children's books. Over the past five years I've worked for several different families, each one differing in the values and beliefs they want their children to be raised with. Guaranteed, if a parent wants a certain belief or moral code built into their child, there will be multiple kid's books laying around that present the message in a way that not only conveys the beliefs in a simple, easily understandable way, but also with a air of truth, guiding the child to believe the principles/stories are Truth (capital T) from the beginning.

Because of my very intense aversion to organized religion, I've struggled with reading some of the stories I've found on these children's shelves. I take my job very seriously - I work with children during very formative years of their lives, and its hard for me in good conscience to read them books that present make believe as fact, and fiction as history - a history worth building their life on.

When one of the kids toddled up to me with this book in their hand, and I flipped through it only to see GOD sprawled across every other page, I was inwardly irritated. Having had a rough morning battling multiple tantrums and hot sticky weather, I was looking forward to naptime. But, knowing that refusing the book might induce another fit of tears, I sighed and snuggled the munchkin on my lap, opened the book, and prepared to present another set of ideas that I staunchly believed he'd be better without.

By the end of the book I was so relieved I could have cried. It's an amazing book - a beautifully illustrated story presenting the even more beautiful truth of God's presence not being confined to one entity or philosophy - but part of everything on earth.

I was so jazzed about the book in fact, that I copied it out and posted it below for you all to take a look at if you are so inclined :) I can't recommend this book, or this author, more highly!

Old Turtle by Douglas Wood

Once, long long ago…yet somehow, not so very long…

When all the animals and rocks and winds and waters and trees
And birds and fish and all the beings of the world could speak…and understand one another…

There began…AN ARGUMENT.

It began softly at first…

Quiet as the first breeze that whispered, “He is a wind who is never still.”
Quiet as the stone that answered, “He is a great rock that never moves.”
Gentle as the mountain that rumbled, “God is a snowy peak, high above the clouds.”
And the fish in the ocean that answered, " God is a swimmer, in the dark, blue depths of the sea.”

“No,” said the star, “God is a twinkling and a shining, far, far away.”
“No,” replied the ant, “God is a sound and a smell and a feeling, who is very, very close.”

“God,” said the antelope, " is a runner, swift and free, who loves to leap and race with the wind.”
“She is a great tree,” murmured the willow, “a part of the world, always growing and always giving.”

“You are wrong,” argued the island, “God is separate and apart.”
“God is like the shining sun, far above all things,” said the blue sky.
“No, He is a river, who flows through the very heart of things,” thundered the waterfall.

“She is a hunter,” roared the lion.
“God is gentle,” chirped the robin.
“He is powerful,” growled the bear.

And the argument grew LOUDER and LOUDER and LOUDER…

Until…

STOP!

A new voice spoke.

It rumbled loudly, like thunder. And it whispered softly, like butterfly sneezes. The voice seemed to come from… Why it seemed to come from…Old Turtle!

Now, Old Turtle hardly ever said anything, and certainly never argued about things like God.
But now Old Turtle began to speak. “ God is indeed deep,” she said to the fish in the sea; “and much higher than high,” She told the mountains.

“He is swift and free as the wind, and still and solid as a great rock,” She said to the breezes and stones. She is the life of the world,” Turtle said to the willow. “Always close by, yet beyond the farthest twinkling light,” She told the ant and the star.

“God is gentle and powerful. Above all things and within all things. “God is all the we dream of,
And all that we seek,” said Old Turtle, “all that we come from and all that we can find.

“God IS.”

Old Turtle had never said so much before. All the beings of the world were surprised, and became very quiet. But Old Turtle had one more thing to say.

“There will soon be a new family of beings in the world,” she said, “and they will be strange and wonderful. They will be reminders of all that God is. They will come in many colors and shapes
with different faces and different ways of speaking. Their thoughts will soar to the stars,
but their feet will walk the earth. They will possess many powers. They will be strong, yet tender, a message of love from God to the earth, and a prayer from the earth back to God.”

And the people came.

But the people forgot. They forgot that they were a message of love, and a prayer from the earth. And they began to argue… About who knew God - and who did not; and where God was, and was not; and whether God was, or was not. And often the people misused their powers, and hurt one another. Or killed one another. And they hurt the earth.

Until finally even the forests began to die… and the rivers and the oceans and the planets and the animals and the earth itself...Because the people could not remember who they were, or where God was.

Until one day there came a voice, like the growling of thunder; But as soft as a butterfly sneezes,

Please, STOP.

The voice seemed to come from the mountain who rumbled, “Sometimes I see God swimming, in the dark blue depths of the sea.”
And from the ocean who sighed, “He is often among the snow-capped peaks, reflecting the sun.”
From the stone who said, “I sometimes feel her breath, as she blows by.”
And from the breeze who whispered, “I feel his still presence as I dance among the rocks.”
And the star said, “God is very close.”
And the island said, “His love touches everything.”

And after a long, lonesome, and scary time…

..the people listened, and began to hear…

And to see God in one another… and in the beauty of all the Earth.

And Old Turtle smiled.

And so did God.

Seen while driving...

If it hadn't been for the fact I was attempting to pacify two screaming 2 year olds hollering for sippy cups in the backseat, adjusting the volume on my radio so I could hear the voicemail I had playing on speakerphone, and keeping my travel mug of tea from tipping over - I would definitely have given the driver of the car bearing this, and only this, bumper sticker an enthusiastic thumbs up as I pulled past her at the stop light.

Three cheers for Random Acts of Kindness

Tonight in the bakery section of Fred Meyers, a nice looking guy about my age grabbed a loaf of bread beside me, paused, and said in the way of old friends, "You look really cute today!" And walked away with a big smile.

I managed to squeeze out a "Thank you!" before he turned, and I stared back at the loaves of dark rye, embarassed yet more blessed than I can express by his random compliment and positive energy.

I turned to follow him with my eyes, somehow hoping the smile I was shooting at his back registered in his mind and he could sense how completely happy I was in that moment and how that one tiny act of kindness literally turned my whole day around, filling me with the warmest fuzzies I've had in quite some time.

Call it cheesy, but I feel the absolute need to put it out into the universe since I will never meet him again - to my kind stranger today - thank you, thank you, for taking a second to make a sad girl's evening. Your genuine smile and words meant more than you know. I hope my embarassment didn't overshadow my happiness, and that you benefited as much from giving the compliment as I did recieving it.

Moral of the story~ Share the love y'all. You never know how much one sentence can improve someone's outlook.

Love for Humans

Shadow Art by Tim Noble and Sue Webster

The human mind is a beautiful and complex thing.

Love Hurts.

I stumbled across this piece while going through old files of my writing earlier today. Most of my writing in the past six months has been inspired by the rollercoaster of insane emotions that made up my days - but not this piece. I remember writing this in a drunken haze after learning that one of my friends was in an abusive relationship...and refused to leave it, regardless of the pain, physical and mental, this person was being put through.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hit me, shake me, push me, slap me til I’m black and blue and cannot stand. Burst vessels behind my eyes as the tidal waves of pain thunder in my ears and rattle the marrow in my jaw.
Countless times would I stand up again just to be laid flat- quiet my pleas and accept the apology rolling from your trite, sober tongue in the morning.

But. You are not so kind.

Your attack leaves no bruises. The tongue, quicker than any upraised hand strikes with the force of a head on collision – over before the sound registers. The sickening crunch of cruel truths and lies fill the room and I’m thrown – shattered to pieces – mind splitting, arteries pouring pulsating streams of r.e.d. – all over the floor where we first made love.

I stand, broken, somehow still whole and search for a lone whisper of defiance rattling around my chest. Nothing. I exhale, empty, and stumble to our bed. Sore, one more night, alone beside you, hoping in vain the morning will open your eyes and you’ll see again what lured you so long ago.

Love. This violent sickness will kill me yet.

A Brave Man. I heart you Stephen Colbert.

For whatever awesome mischance Stephen Colbert was asked to give the main address at the 2006 White House Correspondents' dinner...I absolutely cannot believe this speech didn't get more press...It's a beautiful and hilarious thing. Totally worth the time to watch it!!

Part 1:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qa-4E8ZDj9s

Part 2:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MOYZF3It848

Part 3:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iAvFM4TYQKU

Doubles

And your ridiculous belief that you’ll spend sun filled days in laughter and exotic breezes is so optimistic of a relationship built on ink soaked pages of best feet forward and unbroken promises.

Games. Games, running walking talking circles around who you’ve always been. Twisting, turning spheres of words, your gift and vice, round your head to unlock a door to who you should have been long before now.

Words. Words, begging pleading, striving to convince us, as much as yourself, that this is who you want to be, were meant to be, truly are inside.

This nymph, quiet, demure, pleasing in simplicity and gut wrenching nerve grating with innocence would make us sick if it weren’t for the silent amusement she brings us. Laughter spills from our eyes and drops to the floor in front of you – quickly swept out of sight so she can’t see we’re giving you away with smirks.

Sigh. Sigh for the love you could lose when your true colors show, and the flash of lightening you’ve magically caught through her would extinguished in the haze you’ve persuaded her you’re free of.

Hide. Hide in sincere smiles shared only through pictures and during the scheduled peaceful evenings and passion filled mornings of regular weekends.

Deny. Deny yourself, one piece at a time, until the man we all know for what he is – and love anyway – gives in silently and becomes the stability girls like her desperately seek…one more screw in the machine of mundane normality, living to see old age, and loving to avoid dying alone.

Hope. Hope that this will end in whisky drenched rages against women and relationships. That your eyes will adjust to the naivity screaming from your entwined hands and lingering smiles.

Smile. Smile back as me as I grin in pitying wonder that you too have succumbed to the soul binding crutch that is monogamy.

Learn. Learn your lesson one more time with wasted years attempting the impossible. You will never be tied down, and this ridiculous dream of sun filled days and exotic breezes will fade into the nightmare we all forsee so clearly.

Good luck.

Comments

So you're all awares~ I've gotten a couple emails from people saying they haven't been able to figure out how to post comments on posts: problem solved :) I had the wrong Comment option checked.

Well...we can hope...

Alright President Obama. You're finally addressing the campaign promises that I hoped and believed in you for. You've made some really shotty decisions since you've been in office. Please follow through with these promises...

http://www.cnn.com/2009/POLITICS/06/29/obama.gay.pride/index.html

To my darling niece, Camilla.

I woke up Saturday morning (June 27th) an aunt for the first time. My brother Josh and his lovely wife Paula welcomed Camilla Calliope Eva-Marie Frances Jerusalem Jubilee Gibbs to the world at 4:54am. She weighed an impressive 8 lbs 5 oz and is, in my completely objective opinion, the most beautiful baby that has ever been born.

I'm ridiculously excited to be an aunt, and am bound and determined to be, "the fun one."

This is the inscription in the card I'm mailing to Camilla and her parents tomorrow morning...personal, yeah, but I feel like it sums up my view on life , so I thought I'd share it...:)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

To my niece, Ms. Camilla Calliope Eva-Marie Frances Jerusalem Jubilee ~

A few pieces of advice from your adoring Aunt:

Welcome, welcome beautiful child to this amazing wondrous world. You are already dearly loved by so many people.

You were conceived with thought, passion, and love ~ a perfect combination of motivations and a powerful foundation to build your life upon.

You are blessed to be the first born of two parents who greatly value and respect human life and have already done so much to make this world a more lovely place by creating countless pieces of art that bring joy to all that know them. You are, and always will be, the most significant and precious of these creations.

Life is a gift, as overwhelming in beauty as it is in pain. Pain is necessary for survival; it is an instrument that helps teach us right from wrong, as well as what is important enough to endure it. Beauty is equally as necessary for survival, as it is the physical manifestation of the divine within all things; searching it out within every person and situation can give hope in the bleakest of circumstances. Love Beauty.

Throughout your life, the ever crumbling corporate world will try and convince you happiness is attainable through possessions and social status. This is a lie. Monetary and social success is as inconstant and fickle as the weather, and loving these things will weigh you down and steal your youth. Happiness can always be found in nature. The skies, oceans, rivers, fields, and trees sigh collectively with you as you dream, will always offer refuge, and never be a place of judgment. You will never see a reflection of God in a bank account, but the Divine is undeniable in the shadow of a mountain. Love Nature.

You are the child of two souls who deeply long for peace although you are being born into a world at war. Nations are battling nations, ideals are warring with each other, and the Church would have you bring battles of faith into your home. We are told the things worth fighting to protect are the things worth dying for. Nothing worth sacrificing your life for would ever ask you to do so. Love Peace.

There is a joy unlike any other that is felt when you step back to survey a piece of yourself exhibited through an artistic medium. Clay, canvas, ink, paper, half notes, quarter notes, an arm outstretched to rhythmic beat…the human gift of creating art separates us from the animals and enables us to beautify the world and the lives of everyone we come in contact with. Never limit yourself artistically – adhering to boundaries is the death of new thought and self expression. Never underestimate the power you have to change the world through creating. Love Art.


The dream of a world at peace will never be brought to pass if we do not foster love, forgiveness, and acceptance within our families first. No doubt you and your parents will disagree – there will be times you will be right and they won’t see it. It is always acceptable to question what they teach you, not to ignore it. They want nothing but what they believe is good and right for their extraordinary daughter with an extraordinary name. The power of family is the most underrated, yet powerful force in the world today. Love Family.

Finally ~ I’ve said a lot about the world. It is a wonderful place…even more wonderful because you are now in it. There are things about it you will never understand, hard as you may try. Let your curiosity for the unknown drive you to discovery, not madness. Hunger for insight, don’t insist upon it. Do not create explanations for the unexplainable. Faith for faith’s sake is not beautiful and innocent, it is foolish. Love for love’s sake is foolish – but grand. Do everything in your power to learn and experience as much as you can. Don’t be afraid of making mistakes – life is what happens when you’re picking yourself up after falling down. Take chances. Be brave. Love Yourself.

I love you, precious niece.

Your crazy aunt,
Esther

Choice

Orange lights glow, barely illuminating the dark booths which embrace our bodies and hide our thoughts from outside observation. We are a tedious mistake in the making, formulating excuses in advance to mask this complication which is smoldering more intensely with every drop we swallow.

I recline and make a routine show of affection for the boy beside me, never taking my eyes off your face and the black frames that were the window to my initial attraction. Viewing you through golden wheat poison and heavy coffeehouse beat I could care less about what we are on a road rage drunken mission to destroy. What is comradery in comparison with the heat induced intoxicating question our meeting is posing?

I close my eyes and drift to the pulse of the music, a curious smile plays with the corner of your mouth, head nodding in agreement to my energy. There’s nothing to do but to dance, so we stumble from the cave, and I pause to kiss your friend in assurance of loyalty he’s done nothing to earn.

The question hangs in the air, even weeks later, as springtime evenings chase the breeze into summer nights and mornings full of awkward silences…..

….A question, doomed to be unanswered, when honor, such a forgotten quality, emerges in us both during a stolen moment of complete solitude.

We sleep alone that night, sighing in expectation for the day our integrity will reward us with someone new, unspoken for, requiring little self control and even less restraint. Honor, such a forgotten quality, battles my desire to forgo discretion and attempt another meeting. Long hot nights seem unbearable alone, but disloyalty is an even worse bed companion, so away I drift into dreamless sleep, and wake up to a new day, unsatisfied, alone, still searching, but exhaustibly respectable.

It Can Wait

I lie and wait for inspiration in this sun bathed attic confessional. Tiny miracles of flight sing outside my window, a beautiful break in the silence of early morning hangovers. Contentment is impossible with a mind this full, and I’m raging inside this still room – memories of seconds, made of eternities in glances. I pray for the day I will find inspiration in other’s eyes.

This pathetic kindergarten infatuation propelled by unplanned moments of absolute abandon between sheets in patched walled basement rooms is proving too much. He is the most unwelcome muse imaginable, making it impossible to share the only worthwhile endeavors into our art because absurd devotion, written explicit, is too honest for a Sunday morning.

The leaves shivering in the breeze outside my window beckon me from my cradle of solitude. Tonight is looming before me – my first half hearted attempt of finding something new – in something old – is exhausting. There will be laughter and flirtation no doubt. A brush here, a sigh there, leading him to believe I’m the kind of girl, twelve years junior, that wants nothing more than a silver fox substitute for legitimate attraction to buy her Coach and rail her senseless. I might be cliché, but I’m not that girl.

I feel the sun will not wait a moment longer. I have all day to write. But as I sit up, three hundred words changes nothing and the weight of sighs and undefined past moments is proving too heavy for this room, and this girl, and this house. Having everywhere to go, yet no desire to leave I lay back down. And simply open a window.

5/10/09

Tété

Tété is a French singer who I was introduced to last month by my fabulous friend Brother Dave. I've had this song - Mon Tresor - stuck in my head ever.since. He's coming to Portland next week and playing an uber tiny venue downtown. So stoked. Check out the video for this catchy tune at -

www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ch87tDv3lD4

I find myself humming it frequently - especially on the numerous cloudy (but happy) days that are making up this summertime.

Enjoy!

Cellar Musings

And the girl you believed you knew fades from view, replaced, unexpected, by a woman you never concieved she could be. The distant thunder of future loathing begins to rumble through your chest and your breath catches on the exhale.

The growing realization that she is no longer your instrument to play is strangely unsettling as you lean forward taking your next shot across the green pointless pastime- the roll and clash of solids and stripes set the tempo to the music she is composing with someone new... melody inviting yet unremarkable, new to your ears - finally open to the chord progessions that used to play for you alone.

She is winning at a game that has no rules, chin up- eyes wide- lips parted- heart open. Unaware the first move had been made - you've already lost. At least in her mind. Shake your head like you shook off her affection, concentrate on the new piece, square like you accuse him of being, and stutter like first grade for something to say that steals into her mind and unlocks bolted passages to insecurities.

But the locks are changed. The keys unfamiliar as the eyes that stare through you searching for something you will never be again - an inspiration. Beat your familiar phrases til they bleed, they will never ellicit another sigh of adoration.

Feeling vicious and redeemed she discerns your uncertainty and cruelty that will surely progress as the nights get warmer. Liquid courage, simmering, boiling, will explode and all the previous plans of Renaissance and change will ignite and burn burn burn this new friendship to the ground.

Napkin Scrawls

Every last Thursday in Portland, NE Alberta shuts down and the streets overflow with hopeful musicians, starving artists, and vendors peddling everything from feather and bone earrings to psychedelic mushroom chocolates. The bars are filled to capacity and the Portlanders spilling out onto the pavements can wait their turn for a table while enjoying firedancers or hulu hoop competitions in front of packed stores and coffee shops.

This previous last Thursday, PDX was blessed with an unusally perfect Spring night, and for all my good intentions of spending the evening editing and writing more, I felt something larger than myself beckoning me out. My friend Dave agreed to accompany me across the river after he got off work, and although we were pretty sure we had missed most of the action due to our late departure, we decided to chance it and check it out regardless.

We arrived to Alberta and were relieved to find the party was still in full swing. We walked the streets, not quite grounded, stopping here and there to listen to a lonely guitar or folk band, enjoying the warm breeze and variety of lifestyles on display just for us. Parched, we began the exasperating task of finding a bar with an empty chair or two. We were just about to head back to the car, thirsty and disappointed, when we heard what Dave swore was an accordion coming from the Alberta Street Public House. I was down, so we went in to investigate.

Dave, a composer and lyrical enthusiast, just about had a musical orgasm when he saw that yes, in fact there WAS an accordion - and even better- a Russian folk/ska band rocking out on stage. All I knew is that I wanted to groove and join the mass of sweaty hippie dancers already gyrating around the beer slick floor.

The room got hotter with every patron and before long we were sweating and dancing under the red lights along with the rest of the crowd, ordering round after round of Fat Tire just to stay sane in the heat. I was pretty convinced that meeting this band was what had called me out that night, until I saw the fiddle player for the main act take the stage.

"Oh god," I said to Dave, "THAT'S why we're here."

The Tequila Mockingbird Orchestra (G.T.S.) raged for close to 2 hours and ended by announcing their upcoming concert at the Someday Lounge that Saturday. Having eyed the fiddle player mercilessly from the beginning, I summoned my liquid courage, boiling by this point, and introduced myself...more accurately, accosted the poor guy and rambled about life, screaming with delight upon each new thing we had in common. His smile kept lighting up with what I believed, at the time, was attraction, while in hindsight I'm inclined to think was pure amusement. However, my sincere enthusiasm (read - unadulterated mindblowing drunken adoration) for his previous position as a "Manny" won his interest for a few more minutes, and lead him to ask what I did when I wasn't nanny-ing.

"I'm a WRITER" I yelled, laughing at myself, partly for professing to be a legitimate writer, partly because I realized, even in that moment, how crazy what I was about to do was.

"Oh really?" His smile literally made me weak in the knees.

"Want to read some?!!" Not pausing for an answer, I fished through my abyss of a shoulder suitcase for the napkin I'd been scrawling on some 30 minutes before.

The first one I shoved into his hand was some ridiculous lesbian sounding atrocity about this stunning girl dancing in front of me most of the night - which I could tell within seconds was NOT the napkin I had intended for him.

"Oh god, not THAT one, Sorry!" And I snatched it out of his hand, thrusting a second, more crumpled piece of paper into his hand.


Red lights, sexual only for the music that's about to bring us ecstasy.
Racing thoughts of sweat slick encounters with the man playing the strings like
I want him to play me.
Energy tangible
Desire audible
Heat unbearable
The beat flows through us easier than this poison
And we Smile.


"Wow. I like that one. I really like that one..."

And I went home smiling like an idiot, half a torn napkin, crumbled in a ball to be found at the bottom of my bag in the morning - the other half tucked neatly into his pocket with my cell number that he had requested.

Well, the weekend came and went and he didn't call - perhaps he lost the napkin, perhaps his half also ended up in a crumpled ball, unceremoniously discarded after witnessing me skip, yes, skip out of the bar. Either way, once the sheer humiliation over my actions wore off the next day, I was able to find joy that one by one my inhibitions as a writer are falling away...which I realize now was the real thing beckoning me out that evening, and most evenings now.

Cheers Friends.

Brother Dave and I

Alberta Street Public House

Renaissance

What else is there to live for but this? Breaking boundaries, creating art, sharing ideas-love-bodies-vices. Exploding through the self made ceiling of what I thought I was capable of. Refusing to limit myself and let fear of rejection keep me from expressing what I believe to be the very nature of truth and purpose to the life I’m blessed to be living now.

Relapse

I committed emotional suicide that night. All night. Overdosing on the most potent drug ever taken. Two months of withdrawls and rehab just to end back at Step One. Square One. One moment of weakness lead to hours of relapse.

And now what? The bruises are starting to show. The slightest graze of my collar bone and the imprint of your hand leaps to the surface, aching and throbbing with a dull burn that is the only validation of what I would have considered a dream.

Living in such a way for weeks as to avoid pain if possible- now I’m terrified for when these hurts will fade. Every few moments reaching up to my neck, touching the marks as if they were salvation, not what they are in fact – the very damnation to a hell of my own contrivance.
For now I welcome the pain. It makes each blurred memory clear again, and for two seconds I’m there – your hands around my neck – your lips on my spine – our fevered skin slick with the effort we’re both exerting to escape this reality with the heroin of loveless fucking.
Engaging in an act so blasphemous to the nature of friendship that we have to be seven hours, eight drinks deep to even consider it. Both of us hesitating moments before the necessary sequence is set into being that will lead to me lying here, writing this shit just to cope with my own inability to get over it.

And as the poison courses through our systems, exiting our bodies, bearing testament on your damp sheets there is a pause. Coming down is painful, reality is cruel, and your eyes are not a gentle landing. There is a silent acknowledgment of what is happening and how it changes nothing. And so I spin circles in my head and twist your sheets into knots as I drift off to sleep. Your arms around me a false show of what is profoundly absent and how any attempt at escaping this relapse is futile. So I stay.

Blue Moon Advances

The difference between who I am and who I used to be cannot be learned in one conversation over a sunset orange beer. Knowing that I am the consistent fallback of a twenty something, mid level management accountant who spends his days praying for the paycheck that will catapult him into a one bedroom luxury loft over looking the Pearl is the last thing I needed at the end of this day. Laughing over what used to be, and feeling awkward as our first kiss explaining what my current reality is could not be more uncomfortable. Please, god, yes, take your exit of this bar and this conversation and call the girl you should have in the first place. You know – the one I used to be – the sure thing – and fuck her until she feels better about herself and you feel like half the man you’ll never be. Who would have guessed your shallowness ran so deep.

Subterranean

The hope is tangible in flame flicker dark rooms, an entire movement conceived below ground – brought together by passion- filled pilgrims for the love of beauty and the love of expression – the building blocks of art. We stumble over words in ecstasy, infant ideas and realizations bursting out at the speed of certainty. Nothing born of so much heart can possibly fail. His dream is contagious, spreading from stranger to friend, infecting their hearts and minds and voices to join together and act as one with other artists to create a reality unknown until now. A reality based on the sharing of humanity, emotion, mind, body, and soul. Celebrating the beautiful and ugly, knowing one is impossible without the other. There will be love and revolution and an expansion of our consciousness; we will not take no for an answer. The roar created by our collective plea for a return to emotion will be immutable – the crash of waves on the shores outside our fair city adding a symphony behind this new beat, the back drop for our generation. There is no time like this to be here, cross legged on couches, planning out the course of change like generals before a battle – waging peace not war and art not hate. Thankful for whatever brought us together and fearful of nothing tearing it apart. Our ideas are beautiful and binding. Just wait.

Unlimited Ignorance

Another piece from my old blog...

HPV, or the Human Papillomavirus, is the number one cause of cervical cancer in women – a disease that kills almost 250,000 women a year worldwide. Over half the American population – both men and women – have HPV at some point in their life. (1) In most cases it clears up on its own, and for men, the effects are minimal and curable. But for women it can lead to both cervical cancer and infertility.
Growing up in Christ Church, I remember praying for the end of a lot of different things – world hunger, political strife, feminism (not literally, but might have well since it was preached as "evil" from the pulpit), child abuse, Islam, AIDS (oh wait, can't pray for a cure for that either...God's judgement on the "Sodomites" dont ya know...)and finally cancer. However, it would seem that some Christians are never satisfied unless answer to prayer comes on their terms.
A couple years ago I heard rumblings about a shot that would prevent HPV and was extremely excited (as I figured everyone would be) that a prevention for this destructive virus was on the way. The FDA approved the vaccine in 2006, and Guardasil is now offered to females between the ages of 9 – 26. How wonderful – there's no reason (given the shot works like its supposed to, with a 95-100% success rate) families and friends should lose another mother, sister, wife, girlfriend, cousin, niece, granddaughter, or friend to cervical cancer caused by HPV. (2)
But some are not so excited about this cancer preventing vaccine. Since I didn't make it clear before, one important thing to know about HPV is that it is a sexually transmitted disease, and this is the reason various Christian organizations are not happy about it.
"Abstinence is the best way to prevent HPV," the FRC's Bridget Maher reportedly told New Scientist. "Giving the HPV vaccine to young women could be potentially harmful because they may see it as a license to engage in premarital sex." (3)
How interesting – it didn't even occur to me that preventing cancer and saving women's lives could be a negative or "harmful" thing – for any reason.
"We're going to be sending a message to a lot of kids, I think, that you just take this shot and you can be as sexually promiscuous as you want and it's not going to be a problem, and that's just not true," Dr. Hal Wallace, who heads the Physicians Consortium, said in a Focus on the Family news release. (4)
Call me crazy, but Guardasil is only known to prevent 2 kinds of STDs (HPV and Genital warts) and with proper sex ed (or common sense), I trust the American youth to understand that they CAN'T be "as sexually promiscuous as [they] want" just because of one shot.
I'll be reasonable though, I can understand parents not wanting their teens or pre-teens having sex (protected or not). I don't think most teens appreciate or completely understand sex, and I'm not going to be the kind of parent who encourages my kids to have rampant premarital sex. However, I am going to be a realistic parent who loves their child enough to 1) educate them about sex and their options and 2) do everything humanly possible to protect them from some of the ramifications of their choices (i.e. birth control, vaccines etc.)
The problem I have with these parents is that they are so concerned with their "Christian moral values" they are potentially harming their children. These parents need to face it that they can tell their kids to abstain until they're blue in the face, but in the end, when their teen has sex, it's a decision they'll make without their parents. I do not understand the type of parent that wouldn't want the safety net of a vaccine that would protect their child from the possibly unhealthy ramifications of their "mistake/sin." There's a lot to be said about having a personal set of ethics and morals – but to impose that on your children to such an extent you put them at risk…to me that's the real "sin."
I'll wrap this up with a quote that made me laugh and want to throw up at the same time. This is from Janet Parshall, a staff member of the Family Research Council in 1999:
"Either have sex before marriage and get an STD and HIV, HPV or an unplanned pregnancy, or you save it until marriage and you live happily ever after."(5)
There is no limitation to ignorance.


Referenced Websites:
1) http://www.cdc.gov/std/hpv/default.htm
2) http://www.fda.gov/womens/getthefacts/hpv.html
3-5) http://www.ethicsdaily.com/article_detail.cfm?AID=6587

Thanks Craigslist.

I found this posting on Craigslist in Missed Connections....I've never seen anything like it...Love. It.
------
To the woman that crapped in my car. (NE Portland)

We met on Craigslist so I am hoping that this post finds you. I know that it could quite possibly be the most humiliating first date that you have ever been on, but I am willing to look past that.

I thought we had chemistry sitting at McMenamins sharing that basket of Cajun Tots while drinking the Terminator Stout. I really felt like there was a connection there. I found you to be intelligent and witty and looked forward to further conversation with you.

At some point in life, everyone has gambled on a fart and lost. It just happened to be on a first date in the passenger seat of my car. Please don't feel bad. The package I sent you with Pepto the next day and the note that said "First dates are always a crap shoot. Call me" was meant to be funny, not offensive.

I have gambled on a fart and lost on multiple occasions. The first time I did it was very memorable. It happened when I was five and sitting on my uncle's lap. I am lactose intolerant, but love cheese. I probably win 95% of the time, but I don't think anyone wins 100% of the time. That's why they call it "gambling". I'm the last person to judge you for crapping your pants. In fact, I am impressed by your boldness. The timing on the other hand, could have been a tad bit better...like when you're not sitting on a heated leather seat...

What I am trying to say is that if you want to go out again, I would be more than happy to take you someplace where we can get a meal that is high in fiber and less taxing on the digestive tract.

I await your call,
Stout
P.S. - If you shat yourself on purpose to end the evening early.Touché.

------
And I thought getting food poisoning on a second date was bad.....

So you think you’re a Nice Guy.

Back in September of 2007 I wrote a blog entry about the following topic (original post at www.limitedwhitespace.blogspot.com) due to the heavy percentage of "nice guys" that were in my life at the time. A year and a half later I'm in exactly the opposite position, surrounded now by male friends and lovers that are what most girls consider assholes… and rightly so in many cases. As effed up as it may seem to some, I'm perfectly content in this new situation, and have found that I love and respect these guys far more than any of the "nice guys" of my former acquaintance. I realize now that I'll take less patience or sweetness any day if I don't have to worry about sorting through the rose scented bullshit that most "nice guys" create for themselves because of their overwhelming lack of backbone.

So. To the nice guys out there – this post is for you. It is meant to help, not hurt, although I know it may sting a bit…

Ok- so here's the deal. In general I make an effort to reign myself in when it comes to making generalized comments on men and women and/or my relationships with them. Love is hard, and both men and women use each other in horrible ways. Whether you are single, or in a relationship, there is always something to complain about... But this entry is dedicated to the boys, and a phrase that has been used for too many years to validate and bolster the self esteem of your sex :

"Nice guys always finish last."

Really? That hasn't been my experience. My friend Ryan once said, "Why hate someone because of the color of their skin? That's ridiculous. If you got to know them I'm sure you'd find there's a lot more legitimate reasons to dislike them." This reminds me of most men. Why would a woman break up with a guy because he's "nice?" Once she gets to know him she'll realize there's way more legitimate reasons to not be with him than the fact he's such a great guy. During the past two years of my single life, this has consistently been the first cliché out of a guy's mouth when I tell him I'm no longer interested in dating. Unfortunately, my consistent response has been, "I know. You're right. It's not fair." I realize now that I took the easy road in those moments, and did nothing but help cement this lie in one more male mind. "Nice guys always finish last," is nothing more than a crutch that men use to excuse their reason for being single, and that women hide behind as a polite excuse for not being interested.

In my opinion, guys like to buy into this phrase for one main reason. Guys that are stereotypical "nice guys" (i.e. respectful, good listeners, sweet, traditional gentlemen etc etc) like to pride themselves on being nice guys so when a woman turns them down or breaks up with them, they are flabbergasted as to why ANY woman would turn down the ultimate prize that is embodied in his polo wearing, hair gelling, man purse toting, sensitive listening, well mannered self. While in this state of butthurt confusion, they always seem to fall back on the conclusion that women only want to be with assholes, and that is why they are not in a relationship. They are simply too good for one.

Call me crazy, but I have never in my life met a single woman who dumped a guy because he treated her "too well." However I've known many women, myself included, who decided they didn't want to be with a nice guy for very legitimate reasons. To be honest, what many guys thinks is nice is actually a lack of a backbone, opinion, and good old fashioned masculinity – not having a favorite sports team, never having been in a fight, never looking at a Playboy, and "not enjoying" beer does not make you a nice guy – it means you have more in common with most 50 year old women than you do to the dude in the bathroom stall beside you. Obviously, I'm generalizing and I certainly don't speak for all women. Just me.

The point of this rant is this - to all the "nice guys" out there - If a woman doesn't want to date you, guaranteed it's for some other reason than you're TOO nice. Please do her the courtesy of taking a moment of self reflection on what your problem may be before you accuse her of being an asshole chasing idiot.

Cheers.

Ramblings on Religulous

Since I abandoned Christianity several years ago, my life has changed dramatically. For the obvious reasons, of course, but also in ways I couldn't have possibly foreseen. As passionately as I used to wave my salvation banner and go to arms against co-workers and friends in Jesus' name – I now find myself avoiding discussing Christianity at all costs. Many people that knew me believed leaving the church was an easy choice - that was hardly the case. I felt like a child walking out on elderly parents. Abandoning what raised me, taught, disciplined, and loved me; made my existence have purpose, and gave me confidence about my place amid the chaos that surrounds us…and most terrifying of all – abandoning the one thing that I was lead to believe would never leave me or forsake me. All for the luxuries of drugs, sex, and alcohol…or so the envious faithful like to believe.

It was not an easy decision – but like most difficult things in life, ultimately worth the initial pain and heartache since I now live a life more fulfilling than I ever dreamed possible before. It's a beautiful thing to be free to love and surround myself with whomever I please, their worth based simply on their own merit and not valued solely for who they are with Christ's aid.

To get to the point, there are a couple big reasons I avoid discussing Christianity with others. Part of it is sadness over 21 years lost, and the other is the overwhelming guilt I will carry with me forever for the atrocious things I believed about innocent people, and for the god I so vehemently defended. A diety whose words encouraged and exalted my hatred and intolerance for behaviors and people I knew nothing about. Watching programs or documentaries on Christians (of all dominations) reduces me to tears – tears of joy that I live a life unbounded by archaic tradition and superstition, and tears of grief for all the people I know whose minds are not yet free.

Religulous was the first program I have fully watched and soaked in since I "put away childish things" and abandoned my hope in Christ. Its message of doubt encouraged and lifted me up more than I can possibly describe. I will not be content until every person I know has seen it and given its message a moment of reflection.

The following passage is Bill Maher's ending monologue. Read and enjoy. Then tell your friends.

Cheers.

The plain fact is, religion must die for mankind to live. The hour is getting very late to be able to indulge in having key decisions made by religious people, by irrationalists, by those who would steer the ship of state not by a compass, but by the equivalent of reading the entrails of a chicken.
George Bush prayed a lot about Iraq, but he didn't learn a lot about it.

Faith means making a virtue out of not thinking. It's nothing to brag about. And those who preach faith and enable and elevate it are our intellectual slaveholders, keeping mankind in a bondage to fantasy and nonsense that has spawned and justified so much lunacy and destruction.
Religion is dangerous because it allows human beings who don't have all the answers to think that they do. Most people would think it's wonderful when someone says: "I'm willing, Lord. I'll do whatever You want me to do."
Except that since there are no gods actually talking to us, that void is filled in by people with their own corruptions, limitations and agendas.
And anyone who tells you they know... they "just know" what happens when you die, I promise you, you don't. How can I be so sure? Because I don't know, and you do not possess mental powers that I do not.
The only appropriate attitude for man to have about the big questions is not the arrogant certitude that is the hallmark of religion, but doubt. Doubt is humble, and that's what man needs to be, considering that human history is just a litany of getting shit dead wrong.

This is why rational people, anti-religionists, must end their timidity and come out of the closet and assert themselves.
And those who consider themselves only moderately religious really need to look in the mirror and realize that the solace and comfort that religion brings you actually comes at a terrible price.
If you belonged to a political party or a social club that was tied to as much bigotry, misogyny, homophobia, violence and sheer ignorance as religion is, you'd resign in protest. To do otherwise is to be an enabler, a Mafia wife, with the true devils of extremism that draw their legitimacy from the billions of their fellow travelers.

If the world does come to an end here or wherever, or if it limps into the future, decimated by the effects of a religion-inspired nuclear terrorism, let's remember what the real problem was:
That we learned how to precipitate mass death before we got past the neurological disorder of wishing for it.

That's it. Grow up or die.
See you in Heaven.

Who knows?
Yeah, exactly.

Logos: A Brief Timeline of Sexism in the 21st Century

This is a post from my old blog at www.limitedwhitespace.blogspot.com. I didn't edit it at all, just copied it on over since it was my favorite :)

For those of you who don't know, I graduated in 2003 from Logos Christian School in Moscow. I entered the school in 5th grade, and very shortly after began to have problems with it, even at such a young age.

Logos, while not explicitly funded/run by Christ Church in Moscow, is heavily influenced by their archaic and close minded view of society, due to the fact a large percentage of the faculty, and the Superintendent himself, are members of the church. The school's main founder is none other than the pastor/pope of Christ Church, Douglas Wilson.

It is easy to argue that Christianity in itself, is a patriarchial, sexist religion. However, Christ Church's "brand" of Christianity takes sexism a step farther, and their heinous and ancient view of women (i.e. women's place is in the home (unless they're nurses or teachers), women are not allowed to speak in church. ever. a woman's main objective in her marriage is to "serve her husband" and be "at all times submissive to his will." the list could go on much longer) has infiltrated Logos School to an alarming degree.

Even when I began school there, Logos was becoming more and more conservative and preaching fundamental Christianity as the only way of life. Things have only gotten worse through the years, and the girls at the school are the ones to suffer for it.

2000: Mr. Harken, my history teacher, during a tangent on elections and voting, informed the class that it would have been better if women had never gotten the right to vote. In his opinion the "head of the household" (meaning, the husband) should be the only one to vote and his vote should count for as many people as lived in his house.

2002: At a student council meeting, one of the sons of a school board member put forth the idea that in future years only males should be able to run for ASB President and Vice President since men have the duty to lead women.

2002: The school board/principal does away with our traditional "Spirit Week" and impliments "Knights Festival." The boys and girls are given separate contests to enter. The boys get to fashion fake swords and shields and duel in front of the school in hopes of winning an old fashioned replica sword. The girls get to compete in a "pie baking contest" and the winner wins a gift certificate to Williams/Sonoma.

* And although I don't have a set year that it was put into practice, Logos now functions in such a way, that beginning in kindergarten boys must at all times show preferance to the girls i.e. opening, closing doors, pulling out chairs, letting them go first etc. In itself, I don't have a problem with the idea of teaching boys to be gentlemen. However, when boys are taught to do things for girls because girls are too weak to do them for themselves, I have a problem. Logos/Christ Church seems to have a preoccupation with producing weak men who want even weaker women.

And finally. 2007. The reason I started this rant in the first place.

Today I got home to find the latest copy of The Knight's Page (quarterly student newspaper) in my mailbox. I can never read through it without being appalled at some new social limitation they are placing on their students in the name of "serving our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ." Today was no exception.

Logos High School will no longer have a girl's basketball team. Its not that there's not enough players, coaches, support. Oh no. Nothing that mundane and reasonable.

" There were two broad reasons for the decision, the first being philosophical which Mr. Garfield [Superintendent] deemed as the more important. He said that he and others have had growing concerns for the nature of girl's basketball. It has undergone a radical shift towards a very masculine approach. However, God made it very clear in His Word that He created man and woman distinct from one another. "The girls on many teams are coached like guys, and our girls are in danger because of how the other girls are coached," Mr. Garfield said."

It never ceases to amaze me how weak the school board thinks women are; (did I mention, btw, there are no women on the school board??) how completely incapable of handling adversity and pressure we can be.

But then it occurred to me, horrible thought, that perhaps Mr. Garfield was right on a certain level I couldn't understand. Could it be that Logos had so adequately produced weak minded and over emotional girls that they honestly couldn't handle basketball? Did my fear of what would become of the future classes of Logos girls come true? That after being told daily, for years, they were weaker and inferior, they had come to believe it?

Either way, I'm even more disappointed and disgusted in the place I graduated from. It pains me to know that Logos has been able to scrape by for 30 years, paying their teachers SO little to mis-shape the minds of so many. If they only knew how many Logos graduates were out there, continuing "the Lord's work" and using their "Classical and Christ-centered Education" to binge drink, load a bong, and pop birth control before rampant pre-marital sex, they'd be amazed, and possibly reconsider sharing more of the real world with their students before they were thrust out into it, wide eyed and unprepared.