'Applesauce to you, Dwayne Pendleton...'

Why is there an "appointment time" AND an "arrival time" column when you check in at a doctor's office? Because you definitely don't get preference if you show up early. 

Does the staff bad-mouth people whose columns are vastly different? Like, unbeknownst to us, they're all behind the scenes--shaking their fists at the heavens-- and cursing the person who had the first appointment of the day:

 "Applesauce to you, Dwayne Pendleton; you're the reason these good people have had to wait a minimum of 45 minutes to see the doctor! How dare you, sir? How dare you?" 

Or is it more nefarious than that? Are all the columns just to cover their own butts? I've been the first appointment of the day, arrived 15 minutes early, and still had to wait half an hour to be seen. Maybe everyone on staff at the doctor's office just shows up whenever they feel like it every morning. 

"We have been here for an hour, and all I see when I look around is people drinking coffee and shooting the bull."

And then they just pretend like the first appointment was late--curse them!-- doctoring the records to reflect the misinformation they're disseminating to the rest of us patients, patiently waiting our respective turns; our turns to be told we're in perfect health and then charged $400 for the privilege.

That's the trouble with trust; it can be misplaced.

One thing is certain: if you have a doctor's appointment, you should just clear your schedule for the day. Just take a day.

Congratulations! You have AIDS!

(NOTE: This is what it's like inside my mind. I am about to describe three different threads of thought. Eventually, they will merge beautifully, just give it a minute.)

Thread 1: I've been thinking about my Granny lately. I love my Granny. She lived in a house with four dead-bolts on its front door, each having a different key. She was also always concerned that someone would put a potato in the tail-pipe of her car and would check, or have someone else check in later days, for such obstructions before putting her key in the ignition. 

The whole of our family is prone to paranoia, partly because we come from hill people (meaning, our ancestors married their cousins, which combination of close-set DNA manifests itself in either mental/emotional instability and/or physical deformities--i.e. sixth toes; thankfully, it appears to only be the former which is the case in our family); also, partly because the world is full of sick, sick people. It's probably more due to the latter that any terrifying story we hear or read via chain-letter-type e-mail is taken--if not seriously--under advisement. Because folks are crazy and I wouldn't put much past them. Also, 'cause better safe than a sorry chump.

I remember when I was in elementary school, Granny (or maybe it was my favorite Aunt Sandy who reads this blog) told my Mom about how some people were putting AIDS-infected needles in movie theater seats with notes that said something like, "Congratulations! You have AIDS!". Read more about that here.

Thread 2: For a long time I've had this dream. A dream where I would master the art of pick-pocketing--MASTER IT--and then become a pick-pocketing agent for good. Until this guy stole my idea.

But that's how it would've gone down, see? I would have targeted people who looked down-on-their-luck, though, using my superior deductive reasoning skills. But I guess it was not to be; 'cause this dude had to go and steal my purloining thunder.

Thread 3: I've also been thinking about this whole anti-vaccine thing that's become a veritable pandemic in our country as of late. In case you were raised by wolves under a rock and have just emerged for your Rumspringa here amongst humanity, educate yourself with this video:

Anyways, there's this whole thing about anti-vaccine parents wanting schools to let their children enroll without the proper immunizations. I will say this: while it is your right to decide whether or not to vaccinate your child--no one else, especially the government, should have any say in the matter whatsoever--it should be a school's right to refuse to let you enroll your child. It's just negligence, I feel; but if you want to go that route, go for it. Just don't try to force the possible dangers (for lack of a better word) onto the rest of us who have to have contact with your kids.

This is where all the worlds collide:

It occurred to me this morning that I should put syringes filled with vaccines in movie theater seats, accompanied by notes that say, "Congratulations! You're immune to MEASLES!"

Of course now that I'm posting this on the interweb, the initiative is not quite as untraceable as I would like; but it would combine my need to enforce vigilante justice with my desire to do good anonymously by means originally intended for harm.

Back in the Saddle

It's been months since my last post. The main reason I started this blog was to start writing regularly again; hence the fact that the number one item on my imaginary Manifesto is that I was going to write at least one post every week. That was before two months ago. Before my Mac battery finally decided to go belly-up. Before I bought a new battery and took my laptop apart to replace the old one. Before I realized that it wasn't that the battery had given up on itself, but that my charger was no longer willing to live. Before I realized that a replacement cable would cost at least $70. Which all occurred before I remembered-- I'm poor. I'm determined to resurrect the thing at some point because the first few chapters of my unfinished novel are still on the hard-drive, along with some patterns for my old lady pastimes. 

Meanwhile, as Lazarus keeps, it is nigh impossible to get the use of a laptop around here. Though, now that my brother is home from his mission, my mother doesn't need to monopolize the Dell writing him an e-mail every Sunday night so he'll have something to read on his P-day.

During the past couple of months, I have continued to jot down my thoughts as I always do; thoughts that I might be able to turn into entire blog posts. These are the rejects-- not because of their not being compelling, thought-provoking ideas; but because they are perfectly pithy and I would be hard-pressed to milk an entire post out of them singly. So here they are compiled into a delightful list, for your perusing pleasure.


1. Everything that has ever purported to be red velvet has invariably ended up being a farce. You know what I'm talkin' about: doughnuts, pancakes, milkshakes, Rice Krispies™ treats, soap--it all ends in heartbreak. Why do I keep getting reeled in?!

2. I have a hard time laughing out loud at something when I'm alone. In my mind, you laugh to let other people know you're amused.



3. I've heard Style at least three times today. Also, there's all this buzz about Taylor Swift's newest album and how it's such a departure from her flavor heretofore. I just want to state, for the record, that Taylor Swift was never country. Ever. When she first started out, the music she sang to was slightly more country-esque in that it had twangy guitars; now her music is more pop-y, dancing-at-the-club sounding. The music in her songs is really just a background to a narrative of her latest failed relationship anyways. But you know I crank that biz up when it comes on the radio, just like any normal person.



4. I like Peggy Carter; she's smart, capable, strong, and she doesn't need to burn her bra to be good at her job. But the harsh reality of the matter is that Steve Rogers would've been friend-zoned forever if he hadn't gotten hot as a result of the super soldier serum. A kind, decent 5'1" man is still a 5'1" man. Call me shallow if you like, but physical appearance does play a fairly prominent role in attractiveness.

5. I love the smell of new leather and how it spreads itself ubiquitously throughout whatever space it finds itself in.


6.Those friends you follow on Facebook and Instagram who instantaneously have a bazillion likes right after they post ANYTHING-- my like is insignificant. I refuse. Would you even notice? This is obviously at least somewhat rooted in my latent inferiority complex.


7. Baths make me feel dirty. Like, grimy, disgusting, hanging-out-in-my-own-filth-liquified.



8. I thought Sam Smith was black for the longest time. 

      

   He's just so soulful. Then again, so is Michael Bolton...

9. As a frequent (read "compulsive") online shopper, this scenario plays out dozens of times a month for me: UPS tracking says my package has been in Orlando since 6:30 AM; but won't be delivered to me until tomorrow. Is there any legal  issue preventing me from driving to the company's distribution center, a mere hour away, to get my package? I mean, technically, it is my property. I feel that the law would be on my side in this instance. You know, if I decided to do it.



10. I am a lover of orange Tic Tacs. They do absolutely nothing to freshen your breath, but are quite tasty.



11. To wear a bow tie without looking like Peewee Herman presents a high degree of difficulty.

Can you imagine being a hipster and getting that chestnut in your fortune cookie? Debilitating.

12. When I eat waffles, each square must be filled with syrup, especially if they are Belgian.


13. Mounted weapons are never loaded, and very hard to remove from their mountings. Murders/defenses with mounted swords or guns are just a whimsical farce promulgated and perpetuated by movies and television at least as far back as the 1930's.

14. Bangers and mash sounds like the names of a couple of Bond girl villains (in the tradition of Bambi and Thumper); but could also, possibly, be the names of  a tag-team wrestling duo.

15. Unnecessary things: Ovaltine hot instructions; complicated e-mail addresses (I'm lookin' at you, ckriystallelipz4871@sky.net (she says her name is pronounced "Crystal")); Obama in the public sphere. Or making decisions that affect anybody at all. If, in the name of protecting children, CPA can take someone's kids just because they let them play outside, they should've already confiscated that man's kids. Just sayin'.

16. I forget that New Hampshire is a state. Until a SNHU commercial comes on t.v.

Cinderella: The Underlying Cause of All Our Society's Woes

I've had plans to write this for almost two weeks but haven't set pen to paper, so to speak. Not because it's so hard-hitting or because it's a difficult topic, but because this is the first chance I've really had. But it's been good, because I've also wanted to mull things over, too.

Ten days ago, as I signed out of my e-mail, a Yahoo! news story title caught my eye: "New 'Cinderella' Film Sparks Backlash". Having a desire to see the movie, I was curious, so I clicked on the link and began to read. Apparently, there is real danger in exposing your children, particularly your female children, to fairy tales. There's even a parody of the movie trailer online that's already had--roughly-- a billion views. 

From the trailer:  “Revisit the animated classic that will cancel out all of the empowering things your daughter learned from Frozen, where girls are taught to be pushovers, do all the housework and that their problems will disappear if they’re hot enough to land a rich husband.”

"Depicting a female who appears utterly helpless until a male swoops in and rescues her from all of her troubles sends a troubling message,” psychotherapist Amy Morin told Yahoo Parenting. “Girls may learn, ‘I can’t solve my problems, but a boy could.’ It’s much healthier for girls to recognize their own problem-solving skills, rather than look to boys as the solution."

Naturally, all of this new information quashed any and all desires I had to see this trash. 

Psych. 

I just saw it on Wednesday; it was pretty great. The writing was really good-- it drew from the source material faithfully with just the right amount of "new". I mean, you know that she's going to eventually try on the slipper, but there are enough twists that you're not quite sure how they're going to pull it out. Likewise where the performances were concerned. The costuming was incredible; I spent most of the movie ogling Kate Blanchet's gorgeous gowns.

This goes beyond a cinematic critique for me, though.

According to the aforementioned article, Cinderella depicts "sexism and abuse."

Okay, definitely abuse; but sexism? When is Cinderella treated differently because of her gender in this movie? Because she's forced to cook and clean for her step family? I bet that was because she was a girl and NOT because her step-mother and -sisters were a-holes. If she had been a boy, that never would've happened. 

Or maybe it's sexist because the heroine--gasp!-- gets married?! The Prince gets married, too, and nobody is raising a cry of alarm over that. Maybe because there's no Mr. Foundation for Men. Someone should really do something about that. (Side-note: Why is there no male equivalent to feminism? Shouldn't the human rights activists be all over this?)

My major beef --okay, honestly, I have multiple major beefs with this outcry; but the beefiest of all is this: the claim that Cinderella teaches little girls to "be pushovers, and do all the housework, and that all their problems will disappear if they're hot enough to land a rich husband."

First of all, Cinderella is not a pushover. Just because she didn't lash out at her step-family for making her their servant doesn't mean that she's weak. On the contrary. She has a strength and a level of self-control that is praiseworthy; that most of us will (given the recent backlash) clearly never attain. What would a suitable reaction to mistreatment look like? One the femi-Nazis would approve of? Anger? Unmitigated rage? Retaliation? Vindictiveness? Because, to me, those are all really horrible attributes that I never want to be perpetuated. Those are also all easy responses. 

But we, as human beings, don't need the easy reactions; we need the right ones. And oftentimes those are the hardest. They're hardest because, as a human being, your knee-jerk reaction when someone is mean to you is to be mean right back.

 Anybody can be kind when they're being treated well. The real test of how kind you are comes when you meet someone who isn't kind back. If you're not nice to people who aren't nice to you, you're not very kind, are you? If your being your best possible self is predicated entirely upon it being a reciprocal set-up, you will never reach your full potential because, guess what? A lot of the people you run across are not so great. There are a lot of selfish, vindictive, hateful people out there. Does that mean that I should spend the majority of my time being selfish, cruel, and vindictive? I hope not. That sounds like a miserable way to live. 

Our ability to choose who we will be is what separates us from dumb beasts. With patience and self-control, we can overcome our knee-jerk reactions--all of them-- and become (naturally and without even having to think about it) kind, compassionate, loving beings rather than allowing ourselves to be ruled by base instinct.

Maybe that's not what the haters had in mind. Maybe they think Cinderella should have run away. I submit that that would have been the easy way out. Let me be clear: I am not advocating staying in abusive relationships. But I think the detractors are being allegorical in their interpretation of the story, and so am I. If the offending interpretation of the story is that Cinderella solved all her problems by marrying the prince, would leaving her family's home be any less of an evasive maneuver?

The harsh reality is that you can't run away from your problems. I'm no statistician, but I would say that in my experience, 99% of the time, your problems in life are such that you can't just pick up and leave them behind. They come at you full force and, most times, there's nothing you can do but face them head-on. Are you going to let your struggles crush you to a fine powder or are you going to let them smooth out the rough spots of your character? 

I submit again that Cinderella is strong and admirable when she chooses to be kind in the face of abuse and discouragement at the hands of her family members, those who should have treated her with love and respect.

If the problem with Cinderella is that she ends up married to the prince at the end... I really don't know why that would be a problem. She happened to fall in love with someone who turned out to be a prince. If you're objecting to him on the grounds of his wealth, I feel inclined to tell you that he is only the prince of a very small kingdom and so cannot possibly be too terribly rich. Kate Middleton married a prince and no one accuses her of being a victim. So the girl in our story falls in love quickly; some people do. Others don't. Some people fall in love when they're young, others when they're a bit older. Some never do in this life. Such is the nature of human relations. Maybe it's just marriage in general that everybody is not so keen on. Why? Criticism of marriage always smacks heavily of bitterness to me. I don't think we need to make a whole big talking point out of it like we do in our society.

None of the points from this article resonate with me.

What was so great and empowering about Frozen? I mean, don't get me wrong; it was a good movie and I enjoy watching it. The music is fantastic. But it's no Tangled (in case you're interested, the writing and characterization were so much better).

It must be that whole "Let it Go" part that everyone has reference to. The part where Elsa decides that what she does doesn't need to have an impact on anyone but her; except that that's completely ridiculous because everything that any of us do has an effect on someone in some way; none of us has any control over that.  In essence the song tells our little girls, in desperate need of role models, "Screw y'all; Imma do whatever I want." Empowering. 

When it comes on the radio, I crank that biz like anybody; but if you're going to over-analyze a children's movie to oust any troubling messages it might send to the little pitchers, you should at least be thorough in your disapproval. I happen to be an equal-opportunity critic.

I also happen to be a fairly intelligent, strong, capable, independent woman. Who happened to love watching and reading fairy tales as a child. You know why I never internalized all the "harmful","degrading" messages in any of them? Because my parents didn't rely on childrens movies and stories to teach me what was important. They were responsible for that. 

From the time that I was a small girl, I knew what my values were; I knew what my parents expected of me, I knew what I expected of me; and everything that I came into contact with was sifted through those all-important internal sieves that I believe are starting to sorely lack in our culture-- and interpreted and applied according to those standards. 

I'm not saying that you should let children watch or read or listen to everything; some things are not age appropriate and others are completely inappropriate. What I am saying is that, coupled with the active supervision of adult guardians, we should rely on our childrens' internal filters to make sure they aren't getting any hurtful messages from the things that they encounter. And their internal filters should rely on our teaching and examples for their substance, not what they see in movies or on television. Because, despite our best efforts, they will come into contact with hurtful things in their lives. Our job, as adults, is to make sure that the children in our spheres of influence are equipped to deal with those things on their own, because we can't protect them from everything and we can't always be there to mitigate damage. We have to feed them a steady diet of truth, moral values, and encouragement. 

Of course, what do I know? I unabashedly listen to Frozen songs and watch G-rated retools of popular fairy tales. By choice.

I Would Get the Death Penalty For Sure

As a writer, there are very few things that don't spark my imagination. If I happen to hear something on a t.v. show or in a movie or in a class I'm taking or just in the course of normal conversation that gets my gears turning, I'll make a note of it on my phone and make plans to delve a little deeper later when I have internet access.

As a result, my computer's internet search history ranges from the innocuous to the alarming.

If I were ever suspected of murder a la The Fugitive (because of course it would be nothing more than a very convincing frame-up, probably masterminded by a pharmaceutical company and someone I had previously thought to be my friend) and my computer's search records were subpoenaed as evidence, I would get the death penalty for sure. Which is ironic because one of the offending searches is about which drugs go into a lethal injection.

I've also done a reasonable amount of research on living off the grid, guns and ammunition, body-snatching, and Leon Trotsky. Also, Doris Day. If the Unabomber hadn't already been apprehended, just based on my internet searches, I would be a primary suspect, I'm almost positive. Never mind that the first Unabomber attack happened a couple of decades before I was even born. Never mind that the authorities should be looking for a one-armed man.

I would be on death row.

Which would be a shame because then the world would be deprived of the genius of my debut novel, a work of historical fiction which revolves around body-snatching Communists who employ Doris Day to give lethal injections to all who oppose their lifestyle of living off the grid and exhibition shooting. And body-snatching.

UPDATE: PAVING

As a result of last week's post, there is actual construction happening on the road to my job. Or at least a pretty dern good front. This morning, I saw a BE PREPARED TO STOP sign and a little blobby person with a flag sign; you know, the traffic-is-being-directed-by-a-construction-worker-ahead sign and identical signs on the opposite side of the road about 300 feet later. I also saw what I can only assume were workers and a bunch of commercial trucks and stuff on the corner as I turned onto the road where the wildlife park is located.

So if I'm going to go missing, it will probably be soon. Remember that there was something fishy about this whole thing right from the start. Never stop digging. Never stop asking "Why?"; not until we unearth the truth!

PAVING

2/13-2/27

PAVING

The roadside sign flashed its all-caps warning and I groaned internally. I was already 10 minutes late for work and now I might be even more delayed because of paving. When I arrived, only three minutes late, I realized for the millionth time that I have a lead foot. I also realized that I had seen no paving, or any construction of any kind, as indicated by the messages flashing across the sign. I hadn't seen any last week either, come to think of it. And now I'm starting to think that something is going on. 

Like, maybe that sign was hacked and the person who hacked it is part of a team of criminals (ex-criminals?) with highly-specialized skills, who are trying to pull off some sort of scheme/heist a la Mission: Impossible or the A-Team. Or Leverage, which is really just a love child of the previously mentioned shows. The plans are always so convoluted and completely dependent upon the minutia of the victim's reactions that it's hard to see how they might really work to produce the desired effect. So those kinds of things probably don't happen in real life.

Or maybe it's part of a plan spear-headed by the police or the feds to flush out a kidnapper or a murderer. Because that biz happens in real life all the time. I know; I watch Forensic Files. Which, incidentally, is also the reason I'm hyper-aware of vehicles on the road that follow me for suspicious lengths of time, or people who exit buildings after me and walk in too-generally similar a direction in relation to me in parking lots. It's also the reason I always lock my car doors when driving at night. 

I will not be a 48 Hours Mystery. 

I'm a little hesitant to publish this as it would show whoever is behind all this that I'm getting wise to them. On the other hand, if I'm not dealing with benign law-breakers like Mr. T or Peter Graves, when I disappear it might make it easier for the authorities to solve this thing as they would be aware that I was on the trail of something suspicious right before I went missing.

Of Yoga Pants and Kardashians

I don't spend that much time on social media, but lately I've been feeling absolutely inundated with things about this story.* Sometimes I have a hard time condensing my feelings into a single word, but that is definitely the word for my mental state as of late: inundated. And I'll give you a few more: flooded, overwhelmed, engulfed, overrun, bombarded, DROWNED.

 

But I know that my current state of mind is not all about that specific blog post (and all of the response posts, and talk show appearances, and parody posts...). I suppose this feeling has been building gradually over time. 

 

Let me set you up for what I'm about to write by saying this:

 

In the course of a typical day, there are just so many things to do and so many things left undone that I lay awake some nights, waiting to black out, and find myself wondering who will squeegee up the brain matter when I'm finally discovered in the morning. And I'm not even the busiest person I know. 

 

Not by a long shot.
 

And yet, somehow, we still find the time to allow ourselves to be whipped up into a frenzy about the virtues or vices of yoga pants (depending on which side of the argument you fall-- really, there's an argument? About athletic wear?!) or a Kardashian's naked butt (and EVERYTHING else) splashed all over the internet. Or some very intelligent and educated celebrity's political stance (did we really need to give ANY of these people a mega-phone, Twitter?). Or a million other things that don't impact our lives at all, whatsoever, either directly or indirectly.

 

WHY?

 

Why are we giving these things air-time? We are so evolved that, not only can we not see past the ends of our own noses, but we can't see past the ends of anyone else's either.
 

WAKE UP. There is an entire world out there beyond Miley Cyrus's latest nude, tongue-wagging escapades, and you're not participating in it at all. How can any of us expect to affect positive change if we're so completely bogged down in things that don't matter now and which will only depreciate in value at a staggering rate over time?
 

Look around you--right now, in person; I know it's scary to divert your gaze from any given device for any amount of time, as you are liable to miss some earth-shattering tweet from Ashton Kutcher, but you can do it. I believe in you.
 

Really look. What's happening? Is there an actual person there in the same space with you? Are you among strangers or friends? Family members? Is there someone you can help? Smile at? Be kind to?
 

Do something about it.

 

In this world of instant connection to almost everyone on the face of the planet Earth, where we should be-- if anything-- connected, we have never been more disconnected; from reality, from other people. Today, so much of the human experience is dominated by the transient, the insignificant, the artificial. 

 

NONE of these words are adjectives that I would want applied to a description of me. And yet, as a member of the human race--of the Millennial generation-- I feel they are connected to me by association, however inaccurate they may be on a personal level. This is not okay.

 

I'm not suggesting that we all go off the grid or burn the technology, because that's not what needs to happen here. What needs to happen is that we need to be mindful of what takes up the majority of our time. 

 

Is it cultivating meaningful relationships with all of the people around us? Is it updating our profile picture so all of our friends don't have time to get sick of the old one? Is it looking for the needs that might exist for those we come into contact with, no matter our level of acquaintance or familiarity with them? Or is it live-tweeting a play-by-play of some disgruntled restaurant patron's "hilarious" feud with their waitress?

What are we doing with our lives? Are we leaving people better than we find them? Are we easing burdens? Are we working diligently and consistently to become the best possible version of ourselves that we can be? Or are we wasting oxygen and data?

 

Make the conscious decision to make the most of your time and efforts every single day that you're breathing. You don't have to go out and join the Peace Corps. None of these efforts have to be elephantine. Give a compliment. Hold a door. Make eye-contact when you speak to someone; or even just when you're walking past them and happen to lock eyes for an instant. 

 

Have a real-life, honest-to-goodness, human experience.

 

Let's stop deferring to A-listers to inanely tell us what our opinions should be on political and social issues. Let's stop trying to keep up with people (not to mention keeping them afloat financially with our constant gawking) who are only famous because they've been in sex tapes. Let's stop measuring our worth and the worth of others based on how many followers or likes appear on our newsfeeds. Let's stop volleying passionate, yet completely subjective, writings back and forth over the morality of wearing exercise clothing when you're not exercising.

Bottom line: Stop letting the trivial and ridiculous monopolize your time. It could definitely be more well-spent.

 

*Let me be clear by saying that this post is not about whether I agree or disagree with this girl's premise (but I believe you're familiar with this post).

The Transcendent Quality...

From my seat at the table nearest the bumped out window, I could just see him. About 6 feet tall, dressed in a denim shirt and khakis, with a medium-sized afro and short beard. His mouth moved in unison with mine, inside the pizza shop on the other side of the glass.

That was when it hit me: the transcendent quality of ABBA.

Here was this huge, homeless black man with a reusable Wal-mart shopping bag, singing "Dancing Queen" along with the radio that was audible even outside the restaurant as I, a little white girl with a warm bed to sleep in and a stomach full of pizza bianca, sang right along with them. It's actually a little awe-inspiring that two people from two different socio-economc strata and backgrounds both knew all the words and couldn't help but shamelessly belt them out. Well, I was kind of singing under my breath, as I was with other people; he was belting and he knew all the moves (it was too good to not be choreographed). 

An almost involuntary smile tugged at the corners of my mouth as I watched him.

As silly as it seems, that was a sort of cosmic moment for me. For that two minutes of '70's pop song, I was able to look past the superficial contrasting elements of two lives and be reminded that we are all human beings. We are all eternal being, spirit children of a loving Heavenly Father. 

It's really humbling when He parts the curtain just a little bit and allows us to see one another the way He sees us. With all the war, riots, genocide, and vitriol-spewing pundits out there in the world, it's becoming more and more important to know that there is at least one person who doesn't see us based on our race, or our employment status, or our political views or our religious affiliation. He sees us as His*; infinite beings with infinite divine potential.

*Does that mean that he's pleased with everything we do or say? Absolutely not. He wants us to be happy-- truly happy-- and to meet our full potential, which is why He gives us commandments; guidelines to help us reach that happiness and potential. People who throw around "Jesus loves me" as an excuse to do whatever they want miss the point. This life isn't about whether or not Heavenly Father or Jesus love us (that's been proven and re-proven a million times over); it's about whether or not we love them. Hopefully, at some point in our progression, we will be able to keep the commandments simply because we love them, regardless of the promised blessings.

"If ye love me, keep my commandments." John 14:15

I've Seen Things

I've seen things.

Then again, I live a short commute away from a Wal-mart.

This Saturday, after I got off work, I went there to pick up a few things. I was only there for about fifteen minutes (Wal-mart is one of those stores where it's better to strike quickly and with purpose so as to avoid being maimed, either physically or psychologically).

I had already collected an assortment of snack foods, a bag of flour, and a bottle of baby oil and was on my way to the Health and Beauty section to grab some conditioner. That's when I saw her.

She was about 5'3", 40-45 years old, Hispanic, and pushing a grocery cart. She was dressed in nondescript, neutral clothing and on her left shoulder was a medium-sized bright green bird of tropical origin. A LIVE bird. I instinctively did a double take and had to struggle for a few seconds against my reflexive desire to pull out my phone to take a picture.

But the moment passed and I found myself still conditioner-less, so I powered on.

Then came the self-checkout. Here, I feel obliged to go over some basic Wal-mart etiquette, if such a thing exists. The self-checkout is NOT for you if you:

(A) Have one or more completely full grocery carts.

(B) Are technologically or otherwise illiterate.

(C) Don't speak English.

(D) Just don't want to participate in the human interface inextricably connected to a check-out experience with a regular cashier.

I have seen every single one of these every single time I have gone to the self-checkout. Self-checkout is for those of us with Cheetos and Oreos who just want to make it back to our loved ones before the end of our natural lives.

But I suppose Wal-mart wouldn't be Wal-mart without Latina pirates and reasonable check-outs.

Last Night

I had a hard time falling asleep last night. First of all, I got the '90's revival of my favorite vampire soap opera from the '60's in the mail yesterday (I just don't think we're on the level in our relationship where I can tell you what it is; it's kind of a guilty pleasure that I'm currently still ashamed of); so of course I had to watch it. I'm a compulsive online shopper, you see. Just one episode, I told myself as I climbed the stairs to the loft at 10:00 last night. 

Bad idea. 

I thought each episode was only 25 minutes or so, like the original show. Or at least that there would be an obvious break and theme song between each one. Oh no-- eventually I heard the eleven o'clock news going strong downstairs and I still hadn't seen a clear ending/beginning sequence. I finally just forced myself to pause it and headed downstairs to sleep, for I had to come into work this morning. According to the collectable cover, there is 660 hours of footage in the collection, and 12 episodes. A little simple math reveals that that means each episode is 55 minutes. I still don't know where the first episode ended and, apparently, I went about halfway into the next one. 

I regret nothing.

Then I just couldn't fall asleep. It was like when you're really excited about something that's happening the next day and you want it to hurry up and be tomorrow already. Except nothing fantastic is happening today (aside from me watching more supernatural drama tonight when I get home). I was just really, really happy--inexplicably-- and my mind kept racing at approximately 200 mph from subject to subject to subject. This happens sometimes, though I've also had it the other way-- where I am in a panic and dreading tomorrow; so you can just slow down now, Time.

I thought of some really great new aspects of the book I've been working on since I was a junior in high school. 

Of course, I thought, as soon as I wake up I won't remember any of this brilliance. Remember the last time you had a particularly clever book idea and you couldn't think of what it was the next morning? I do! I still can't remember what it was. So I must write it all down. Rats, I have nothing to write on. I could use my phone to write myself a note. But then I would be blinded by its radiant glow, which in the blackness of the night rivals the intensity of a thousand white hot suns. My retinas will be burned and then I'll have to wait for the skin to grow back on my eyeballs.Then I for sure won't be able to fall asleep, which is really what needs to happen. What to do...

At length I decided to go for it. I turned down the brightness of my phone (which was still almost too much to handle) and typed away until I was satisfied I had captured all my thoughts on the subject. It was about 1:30 when I finished and there's a time stamp on that note on my phone to prove it. 

So, that's what it's like to have a chemical imbalance.

New Year's Eve Past

This past New Year's Eve found our family on the couch in front of our t.v., watching a Canadian house hunting/remodeling show on Netflix-- right up until about ten minutes before the ball was slated to drop. With Dick Clark gone there's not much reason to tune in before that, or at all really. I'm sure there are those of the rising generation who, because of the wickedness of the traditions of their fathers, will think the same thing about Ryan Seacrest when his time finally comes. But no matter.

If New Year's Rockin' Eve isn't even worth watching from the comfort of my living room anymore for lack of Clark, I can't think of a reason for so many people to actually attend the thing in person. What kind of person would willingly be sardined into Time Square like that? And it's not just a few people; no sir. People come in from all over the country to stand, fifty people deep, along both sides of the street, for twelve hours or more in the frigid conditions, holding their bodily fluids and hoping not to get trampled to death by the other lunatics with neon 2015 glasses balanced on the ends of their noses, so they can watch the second that the ball drops LIVE and in person-- all while fending off complete strangers who want a New Year's kiss.

It just seems like a lot to me, with nothing more to show for it than a new profile picture and the very distinct risk of contracting meningococcal meningitis.

Anyone who watched a little after the ball dropped also saw a man in uniform propose to his girlfriend in front of Jenny McCarthy, God, and everyone with access to basic television programming. Which was sweet, I guess. The girl didn't seem to mind, anyways.

But such proposals have always seemed so disingenuous to me. I suppose I have always felt that any proposal that needed dressing up wasn't much of a proposal at all. Any man who would propose to me in such a public setting would get an unhesitating "No" for his trouble.

Time Square on New Year's Eve: "No."

Jumbo-tron at any sporting event: "No."

In the middle of a restaurant: "No."

In any public place, at any given time, by any man: "No."

I feel like proposals are very personal business and should be done in private. Let me be clear: This is just my personal take on the matter. I know tons of people who have started their marriages off that way and their marriages don't seem to suffer by it. That sort of thing is fine if you're okay with it. But I'm not.

My last few posts have seemed particularly judgmental, I think. It's probably just because I'm a really judgmental person. I'm sort of glad you're finding this out about me now, though, before we get serious.

On a side-note, I want Elton John's blazer.