Notes on a Scandalous Life

Of late, I picked up a book that I had once procured and then forgotten about: Touched by Fire: Manic-Depressive Illness and the Artistic Temperament. I'm not one of those people who would be likely to say to all my friends "I am sooo hyper, and I get bored in class. I must have ADD!" So, I don't think I'm over-diagnosing myself when I say that I do believe that I am and always have been manic-depressive, because I feel like this book is ABOUT me.

As the book explores, some would see my manic-depressive state as a bad thing: artists are more likely than the general public to be manic-depressive, and, likewise, are more likely to commit suicide and abuse drugs or alcohol. One camp thinks that the condition requires medication. Another camp thinks that it's the source of artistic inspiration. It's not like ink hasn't ever been spilled on this argument before. To wit: is madness really such a bad thing when it helps an individual to create art?

I've been feeling pretty existential lately, and I have to say that I think that the highs are worth the lows. When I'm manic, I can sit down and write, and write, and write. My creative ability skyrockets, and, to me, that's worth the occasional depressive spell that I experience. But then, even the lows can assist in the making of art - it's the way that artistic individuals FEEL things more strongly than the general population that helps them to channel those sensations into art.

If I knew someone who experienced (I hate to use the phrase "suffered from") the same condition that I do who chose to take medication, though, I would understand just as well. It's painful, sometimes - even the mania can be uncomfortable, when it keeps you from sleeping or makes you irritable. But, for me, it's worth it. This should come as no surprise to anyone who is very familiar with me, though, anyway - you all know that I'm crazy.

Since I talked up my excitement about Avatar the other night, I think it's only fair that I share my thoughts about it - post-movie. Personally, I loved it, even though there were a few holes.

The goods:
- Strong female characters not relegated to mere romantic interest roles
- Slight gender ambiguity among the natives of, uh, whatever-planet-that-is. I don't mean that you couldn't tell which ones were male and which were female, but, rather, that they all served similar roles in their culture - very egalitarian.
- Really, really well-played and imaginative special effects.
- Sigourney Weaver with a tail.

The bads:
- Several gaps in the story. Personally, I felt like I just got dropped in in the middle, and then had to find my own way from there. I had a lot of questions that were left unanswered - even though the movie was long as hell.
- The anthropologically-correct moral of the story (that indiginous people are not necessarily "primative" - just different) was a little overplayed, and made a lot of obvious references to American Indians. Not that that's bad... but sometimes I felt like it was being pushed on me a little bit.
- Not enough Michelle Rodriguez. Per my previous post, this may be due to some personal bias, but... c'mon.
- The whole "mating for life" thing. While I'm not opposed to mating for life, I kind of thought that an indiginous tribe, so in-touch with nature, might be a little more, you know, promiscuous. But then, maybe I'm just being too liberal here. Penguins mate for life, after all. Maybe they're like penguins. Just not quite as cute.

Overall: excellent moie. Especially in 3D. I hated Coraline in 3D, but this movie totally utilized the technology to make the film really jump out at you. My final verdict: go see it!

Earlier this afternoon, Abby and I caroused Rockwall, finishing up our Christmas shopping (and I confess to buying myself blue mascara - I can't go into Wal-Mart without purchasing ridiculous makeup). As soon as we got home, the muscles in the left side of my back attacked me, and I've been nursing the heating pad on the couch ever since.

This morning, I completed my final for Modern Grammar. I only vaguely understood a number of the questions, so my guess is that my grade on this will be something of a... low. Which is okay with me. Any grade that is a passing grade will satisfy me perfectly, in this class. My teacher, a very sweaty, very Italian man (but also extremely lovable!) rarely spoke comprehendably about anything except his love for The Golden Girls. My grasp on Chomskian sentence diagramming suffered accordingly. But then, to be fair, I doubt I would have ever really caught on to anything that Chomsky had to say about syntax, anyway. We were once guest-lectured by a professor who referred to subjects as things like "actors" and direct objects as "recipients", and I found this approach, with its room for creativity, to be much more up my alley. So, fuck you, Chomsky. I never liked your theories about Subject Verb Object, anyway. I will be happy if I make a D in this class.

And now, I am listening to the soundtrack to Into the Wild. Prior to hearing this record, I never knew that Eddie Vedder could be so... delicious. But he is.

And so, until MyLeo is up and I can investigate the terms and conditions for my final midterm (It's online! Squeal!), I'm just going to sit here, listening to Eddie Vedder singing (deliciously) about the joys and sorrows of the nomadic lifestyle, and possibly reading Wicked. I started it a few days ago, after hearing from a few people that it was way, way more colorful than the play, and had morally disturbed them a little. I have yet to be disturbed, but I'm only about 50 pages in. There's still hope.

Are your nails painted?
My toenails are, but I never do my fingernails. It's too much maintenance.

Are your dreams strange?
My dreams are ALWAYS strange. I actually keep a dream journal.

Do you have to check in with your parents before you go someplace?
At the tender age of 23... I don't think so.

Do you know anyone who doesn’t smoke pot?
Not everybody can be down.

Did your ex say anything that you still think of?
Yes.

Have you ever done something you promised yourself you wouldn't?
Sometimes for better, and sometimes for worse.

Do you miss anyone right now?
A lot of people.

Are you a shy person?
Hell, no.

Do you have memories that you want to forget?
That's up in the air. Probably not, though. My experiences have, like, shaped me and junk.

Would you rather love one person or have many short relationships?
It depends on whether that love-relationship is healthy - if yes, than I would choose that, but, if not, I would rather enjoy the company of several people I'm not overly-attached to than pine over someone I can't or shouldn't be with.

Do you have a best friend of the opposite sex you can tell everything to?
Actually, no. Most of my friends are women - and I'm definitely okay with that.

What is more important in a relationship, happiness or trust?
I've trusted people I was completely unhappy with, and I think I would rather choose happiness. Adventure is more important to me than stability.

Wanna talk to someone you havent talked to in a while? Why?
Yes; won't say.

Do you have more than five songs that remind you of just one person?
Yes again.

Do you still have any attachments with an ex?
Several of them, actually.

When was the last time you wanted to punch someone in their face?
This guy on my Facebook posted some status about how many women it takes to screw in a lightbulb... I don't remember the answer, but it was some kind of stereotypical, ignorant portrayal of feminists as man-haters who are in denial of the fact that women can't survive without men... I deleted him. It wasn't quite a punch, but it helped.

What did you wake up to today?
I think I just kind of woke up on my own - I was thirsty and my spine hurt.

Have you ever laid on a bed and stayed there for no reason at all?
There's always a reason for that - I refer to it as "laziness".

Do you think someone is talking smack about you behind your back?
It's the status quo.

Does anyone not like you at the moment?
See above.

Has anyone put their arms around you in the past 5 days?
Lots of people.

Do you hate being home alone?
I used to, but now, I really like it. A little solitutde, in which I can read a book, take a bath (and a xanax), listen to music, do some homework... mmm.

Are you under the influence of anything at the moment?
Birth control... it's a very good influence.

Do you sleep with the door open or closed?
I don't have a door, but I rarel close the curtain all the way. I'm not a fan of pitch black.

Could you go out in public looking like you do now?
Swim team t-shirt, VS flannel pants, moccassins... why not?

Do you think relationships are even worth it?
Even relationships that end poorly can be good experiences, in the long run, but that's not to say that everybody is made out for relationships.

Do you like horror or comedy?
Horror FTW!

Have you ever been called heartless?
Not in recollection, but I have been called a lot of other synonyms for that. "Piece of work" is my personal favorite.

Has anyone laid on your bed besides you?
Just look at me. I am SO celibate. Duh.

Do you like to color?
I suck at coloring inside the lines.

Have you ever slept on the floor with someone you liked?
More like passed out

What is your current annoyance?
TAMU-C, per usual.

Are you a risk taker?
Without risk-taking behavior, how can anyone LIVE?!

Have you ever worn the opposite sex clothing?
Sure.

Your phone is ringing. Its the person you fell hardest for, what do you say?
Tough call. I really don't know the answer to that.

Do you know anyone that drinks?
I live in an Amish compound, so of course not.

Anyone pissing you off?
You could say that.

Have you ever dyed your hair?
All the times.

Do you understand football?
About as much as I can understand something without giving a damn about it.

Has someone ever told you that they would be with you forever?
Yes, several men.

When was the last time you were sick?
Last night... mmm beer, you have betrayed me again.

What is the worst subject they teach in school?
Home Ec.

Are all of your friends in relationships?
I'd say its about 50/50, but the balance is coming closer to tipping all the time.

Are you looking forward to something as of right now?
Christmas in Galveston, trick!

Have you ever worn false eyelashes?
Love 'em.

At the moment, are you more warm or cold?
Juuust right, which, for me, means warm.

Do you find girls/guys with facial piercings attractive?
Less and less so, as I age.

When was the last time you saw snow?
Last time it snowed, Mom texted me to tell me about it... and I just kept right on sleeping. I hate snow.

How long is your hair?
About down to the middle of my back.

Are you wearing make-up?
But of course.

Something you hate more than anything?
Sexism; ignorance.

Are you wearing anything?
I feel like I answered this question somewhere up there...

Wanting to tell someone something?
Oh, yeah. I'm always full of statements to make.

What do you think about toe socks?
PITA.

If you had to live off one type of fruit, which would you pick?
Tough choice... strawberries?

How long does it take you to get ready?
Depends on what I'm getting ready for. Never more than an hour, but usually closer to 30 or 45 minutes.

Are you the type people should take seriously, or should they think you’re joking?
They should just assume I'm joking. Even if I'm being serious, it's not worth the trouble of them taking me seriously and getting offended.

Do you break things when you are mad?
No; sometime in grade school, I learned to channel my emotions in non-violent ways.

Do you mind sleeping on the floor?
Usually... but sometimes, it happens.

I've been reading Jean-Jacques Rousseau's Reveries of the Solitary Walker for a paper that's due later this week. Now, let me be clear about this: I am a 50/50 Rousseau fan. I agree with him, philosophically, on many levels (Deism, for example, and the all anti-church-and-state bits), but his sexism pretty much prevents me from totally joining the cult of the Enlightenment.

Anyway, I was reading along, minding my own business, when I came upon this passage:

"...having resolved myself to reconstitute a herbarium more complete than my previous one, until such time as I can collect all the plants of the seashore and the Apls, and the flowerings of all the trees of the Indies, I am making a modest beginning with chickweed, chervil, borage and groudsel I botnize learnedly at my birdcage, and every new blade of grass that I spot makes me say to myself with satisfaction: 'There's one more plant anyhow.'"

Basically, once-upon-a-time, Rousseau had quite the collection of plants, but, for some reason, they were now all gone (In case you didn't know, a lot of the Enlightenment thinkers also dabbled in science, as well as philosophy.). Now, seeking to rebuild t, he had to start from the ground up. Rather than adopting a "this will take foreeever" mentality, he began, cheerily, right at the beginning.

Sometimes, I feel like I'm in Rousseau's position. I want to collect all the flowerings of all the trees of the Indies, but, right now, I'm just muddling through my BA at Texas A&M. And that's frustrating. But, someday, I'll get there. I just need to keep collecting blades of grass... and start turning in homework assignments on time. Sigh.

Since it's been getting cold, and Abby's never around to shoo him away, I've been letting Diablo sleep inside. He's kind of dirty and smells bad, but I've let Pooky sleep in my room before, too. Besides, he's good company.
I've been dabbling in feminist lit, as usual - The Purity Myth, Yes Means Yes, and - admittedly more fun than those - The Handmaid's Tale (again), which means that guys at bars are getting lots of drunken dissertations from me about the wage gap, abstinence-only education and enthusiastic consent. I have to give it to anyone who can sit through one of these - that kind of dedication is reserved only for men who really, really think I'm the most attractive girl in the establishment. Or guys who actually care about feminism... and I'm batting for the first. Just sayin'. Diablo, on the other hand, will sit on my feet for hours on end while I read, fold pages, underline, and journal.

On top of the other excessive writing I've been indulging in lately, I've also started keeping a dream journal. I thought, at first, about making a dream blog, but I would probably end up omitting some information in the name of my reputation of a person who has retained some sanity. I've been having some pretty vivid dreams, lately, probably as a result of my overtaxed mind, which has nothing to do but run circles around itself. Maybe the next time I have a PG-13 dream that doesn't make me appear to be a total lunatic (this definitely excludes the epic quest dream I had the other night about a nuclear laser attack), I'll share it on the blog.

I've kind of enjoyed unemployment, which is not to say that I'm not looking for a new job. But having some time for homework, leisure reading, and drinking on weeknights (not that I didn't do all those things while I had a job - but now I'm fitting them in more neatly) has not been such a bad thing. I feel like I've actually had time to attend to my classes, which is good, because I haven't been doing as well this semester as I did in the spring. I'm actually playing catch-up in my Enlightenment class, which is something I've never done before - and I really like this class, but it just kind of fell by the wayside during the course of everything else that was going on. Grr. I hate feeling like I'm not in control of my academic success.

Other than in terms of morale, though, I don't feel like I've been hit all that hard by joblessness, yet. Actually, I found a pair of VS Pink pants at My Sister's Closet yesterday for $3! If I continue to bargain shop at this rate, I can maintain my unemployed state for YEARS, provided I don't drive anywhere or buy any of my own food. What's for dinner, Mom and Dad?

Today, I had a lot of things to say about how I lost my job, and, thusly, about attourneys, about the EEOC, and, basically, a lot of miscellaneous bitchings. I thought about putting these things in my blog. But, instead, I told them to Pickles.

I just thought about this tonight, although it happened a few weeks ago, and realized that I have some things to say about it.

Once upon a time, when I went to John Brown, I was acquainted with this guy, by which I mean we saw each other in the cafeteria every once-in-awhile, and had about two mutual friends. We never hung out or really talked, but I saw him at a party once-in-awhile, so, at some point, one of us must have added the other to our Facebook, because there he was, a few weeks ago, IMing me. I ignored him, because I never really knew him, and he seemed pretty boring. He kept on IMing me though, so eventually, I was bored enough/drunk enough to listen to whatever it was that he had to say, so I IMed him back. You know, "hey," or something like that. And then it's like:

Him: "I saw your pictures, and it looks like you're a lot of fun."

Okay, well, this is a fair assertion, and not a completely weird thing to say. I'm thinking to myself, maybe he graduated and moved to Dallas, and is looking for someone to hang out with. So I reply with something like "Yeah, I'm more fun than you or your grandmother can handle." or something equally inane. And then...

Him: "So, do you drink?"
Me: "Uhm. Did you fail to notice the staple beer in my hand in almost all of my Facebook pictures?"
Him: "No. I wasn't looking at that (totally creepy winking face)."
Me: "Uhm, okay."
Him: "Well, as I said, I wasn't looking at the beer. So, do you drink?"
Me: "Yeeeah."
Him: "Are you wild?"
Me: "Define wild."
Him: "You know... with guys."
Me: "You mean, do I have sex? No. Of course not. I'm 22. I spend most of my time at home, knitting potholders."

There are SO many things wrong with this conversation, I don't even know where to start. First of all: nice way to point out that you were looking at my tits, asshole. Yeah, I know that my Facebook pictures are hot, but I also have, you know, a profile. With information about myself. That you could at least GLANCE over, before you make the mistake of going straight for the boobs. But, whatever. On top of that, the whole issue of wildness really confused me. Did he mean Girls-Gone-Wild wild, or just plain getting-wasted-and-passing-out-in-strange-places wild? No, apparently he meant a kind of wild I've never heard of - the kind where you have SEX. Since when is sex wild? Since you are lonely, horny, and newly-graduated from John Brown, I guess.

Anyway, for some reason, I allowed this conversation to continue. I basically asked why he was IMing me and saying this shit, if he wasn't even in the area (I had recently gained knowledge of the fact that he was currently located in San Antonio), to which he replied: "Do you not think I would drive up to Dallas for a good blow job?"

Um, yeah. Where did the whole blow job thing come from? Oh yeah, it must be because I'm a woman. We LOVE to give blow jobs. Especially me. The fact that I'm in a bikini in some of my Facebook pictures just automatically means that I must be a penis-hungry slut, and will totally suck any dick that takes the trouble to drive to Dallas for me. Or, you know, NOT.

And so, the conversation ended with him asking for my number, and me deleting him from my Facebook.

This is the moral of the story:
If you are a guy (or, hell, a girl!), and you think my Facebook photos are hot - great! Leave a photo comment. One that is at least a little appropriate, though, cuz, hey, I'm not fully-naked on there or anything, which means that it's not the best venue for you to discuss how much you want to teabag me.

But if you want to take it further and actually talk to me, you could at least bother to feign some interest in something other than my "wildness". Read my profile and talk to me about my favorite books or something, or, hell, ask me how my day was. Just remember that Facebook is not a DATING website, nor is it an adult-friend-finding website, and I am not there to solicit sex from you. So don't bother. And, if you do, at least be smart enough to tone down the creep factor for me at least a LITTLE bit, and avoid jumping straight to the conclusion that, because I have had sex with another guy before, I must therefore be willing to do it with you - ESPECIALLY if you drive all the way to Dallas.

Some of the filler I made for this week's paper:

October is National Poetry Month!
To celebrate, try your hand at a Haiku. It’s a Japenese poem consisting of three lines, with five syllables in the first and third, and seven in the second. For example:

Seeking solitude
Carl’s ex-wife Tammy files for
Restraining order


Sometimes, I love my job.

This morning, on my way to work, I got my car stuck. This is one of the hazards of living in a rural area and not owning a truck, and also of feeling free to park and drive in people's yards, rather than in their driveways. I was late to work, but, fortunately, not too late for donuts. Donuts are not a commodity I have ever purchased of my own volition, but when they're free, they seem to taste really damn good, for some reason. So, I had a donut. Then, I found out that Obama won the Nobel Peace Prize. I'm not sure exactly how I feel about this, because I haven't been keeping up with politics like I should. Everybody seems to have an opinion, and my only opinion is that I'm tired of hearing everyone else's opinion. Granted, he probably wouldn't have been awarded the prize, had it not been for the fair comparison his trigger-happy predecessor cast upon him, but, meh.

So, my workday's highlights, again. I:
1. Ate donuts
2. Didn't care about politics or the Nobel Peace Prize


I think this qualifies me as a true American patriot. Where's my free gun?

I'm watching Intervention, and I noticed that there's a change in this commercial for some kind of lap band that I've seen a million times. Before, obese lady said: "I want to kiss him under the Eiffel Tower." and now she says "I want to fly to Paris with my husband."

You have to wonder why they changed this. I googled it, but I didn't get anything other than speculations. My guesses would be that:

1. We have to be sure that this guy is her husband, otherwise, it could be implied that they're living in sin. Oh, noes!
2. Kissing is almost as scandalous as not being legally bound to the person with whom one is living.
3. Flying is something that's hard to do when you're overweight, as opposed to kissing, which, I guess, is not.

I don't really care why they changed the commercial, in fact, because her fatass husband is standing right there, seeming to have no intention to get a lap band, try Weight Watchers, or put down the chips. Ugh. Maybe I should stop watching TV.

This blog has been toned down here, because it's totally public - if you want to read the full version, check it out on my Facebook.

Tonight, I've been rabbit-trailing the internet, looking at blogs, articles, and books that deal with this problem that I've been having with this guy lately. Without describing the situation in great detail, let's just say that this particular guy is a total creep: he has pursued me relentlessly, which makes me very uncomfortable, for a long time. Every time I'm firm with him, he blatantly sulks (which also made me really uncomfortable) until I gave an inch and was a little nice to him, and then it starts all over again.

Normally, there's no way I would have allowed this to continue to occur. Unfortunately, though, I'm trapped in the situation. I have more sympathizers than I used to, but, in the beginning, I almost always got responses like: "Why don't you just go on a date with him? You might like it." and "You're just too mean."

Of course, that's what women always hear when they are honest when they turn a guy down. Instead of "No way. You're old and creepy and have a muffin top." We make the mistake of saying things like "You're a nice guy, but I just can't." In her article in Salon, Kate Harding points out that it doesn't work to be a nice guy, therefore, the correct approach to scoring a chick must be to morph into a total asshole. This isn't the worst result of not being direct, though. Harriet Jacobs points out in her blog (which you should REALLY read) that women are cultured to be passive and docile when approached by men, even when they are not interested. This, in turn, leaves men a toehold to continue pursuing a woman against her will, and even to rape her, without any resistance until it's much too late. Because, if we express the fact that we are uncomfortable, a man will just default to "I was just kidding/trying to be friends/some other lie. You're such a bitch!"

That's why I've said relatively little about my situation, until now. I know that, if I say anything about what a creep he is, he'll just play it off. But, fuck it. I would rather suffer the consequences than continue to put up with this bullshit. I would rather be a bitch than be taken advantage of because I'm a woman, and I'm supposed to be "nice".

Could you handle being married to the last person you texted?
At this point, being married to anybody would be a fate worse than death (hah)... but I could probably handle a long-time commitment to LIVING with my sister. Hmm.

Were you happy when you woke up today?
Not really, just cold.

Do you hate the last guy you had a conversation with?
I try not to talk to people I hate - it kills my buzz.

Can you honestly say you're okay right now?
I am very, very happy with things.

Do you have good vision?
Perfect.

How do you feel about answering personal and/or intimate questions?
It depends on who I'm answering them TO.

Do you like sushi?
I don't know, because I don't want to eat it. I don't mind being unsophisticated.

Regret not doing anything in the past week?
Not particularly.

Has a guy ever seriously punched you more than once?
Apparently, under the influence of certain substances, I sometimes feel compelled to get creative and TELL people that - but it's not really true.

Do you think you were ever in love?
Oh, sure.

Did 11:11 already pass?
Yeah, I guess I didn't notice because I was busy being a grownup and not watching the clock to wish for a new boyfriend or something.

Are you a bad influence?
That's what they say.

What were you doing at 8 this morning?
Making myself hot for work. Great success, but, now, I'm realizing that it's just work, and I'm looking sexy for nothing.

Do you remember your dreams?
I do, a lot of the time.

If you had to choose someone to sleep next to every night, and wake up to every morning; who would it be?
Diablo. The more men I meet, the more I love my dog...

Day been rough?
Not really.

Who called you last?
Hah, speaking of men...

Do you look decent when you wake up?
It depends on who you ask.

Does seeing couples in love make you mad?
No... but how am I supposed to tell if someone is in love, anyway? I usually just assume that they're stupid.

What would you do if you found out you had been cheated on?
Get tested.

What is your opinion on sex without emotional commitment?
Other people's sex is not my business, and my sex is not the internet's business.

What can you hear right now?
James Morrison: Broken Strings.

Have you ever been suspended or expelled from school?
Nope. I am academically well-behaved.

Are you positive that you are not pregnant?
Right now? Totally positive.

Do you feel alone even in crowded rooms?
Not unless I don't know anyone in the room. Then I just feel like I need a drink.

What is the worst thing a person could do to you and still be forgiven?
Forgiven by who?

Would you fall apart if that last person you kissed walked out of your life?
I'm a big girl - I'm pretty sure I could handle it.

Anything you are looking forward to?
It's the weekend, baby! I just need to get off work.

What are you doing tomorrow?
Trailer party.

Were you single over the summer?
Well, I sure as hell wasn't married.

How late did you stay up last night?
'Til about 1.

Can you read other people's expressions?
Not really... I am totally un-subtle.

Number of girls in my Modern Grammar class wearing athletic sneakers with jeans: 2 (Sketchers: 1; unidentifiable, but probably Wal-Mart: 1)

Number of fat people who opted for the more spacious table in the back: 2

Number of lonely and isolated men in this class: 3 (Students: 2; teacher: 1)

Number of older adult students who are probably taking this class way too seriously: 3ish (this IS East Texas, and teenage pregnancy can really age a person)

Number of water bottles: 3

Number of soda bottles: 1

Number of soda bottles sitting in front of overweight women with clearly-visible leopard bras: 1

Today, the weather is beautiful. It's a perfect afternoon to take off the t-tops, pick up a six-pack, drive to the lake, and spend the whole day laying in the sun and pretending that Lake Tawakoni isn't full of AIDS (or, better yet, getting thrown around on the jet-ski, if I happen to not incapacitate myself by drinking the entire six-pack). Instead, I'm at work, listening to old-time country, because Chuckles got to the radio first. It's my fault, really - I arrived at the office earlier, but missed my golden opportunity to launch the classic rock station, post-haste. I love Chuck, with his shorts (I have never seen the man in pants. Ever.) and his eclectic collection of festive Hawaiian shirts, but I really wish he had better taste in music. I'm zenning out... I'm zenning out.

Tomorrow is the first day of the next semester, and, instead of looking forward to it, like I usually do, I'm royally dreading it. Or all the accompanying homework, at least. I wish I could have taken the whole summer off, to give myself a break. Instead, I chose to take 7 hours and work 50 hours a week for the majority of June, July, and August... a choice that padded my bank account and bought me a few more pairs of very unnecessary shoes and some much-needed college credit, but kind of sucked all the will-to-live out of my soul.

I decided that the cure for my senioritis would be a vacation that will very likely make me even MORE reticent to return to my East Texas lifestyle of... nothing, and, so, Abby and I got our passports. My parents are going, too - Mexico had better start stocking up. All-inclusive? Very yes. This vacation will either leave me well-rested and ready to face the rest of one of my very last semesters of undergraduate study, or, alternatively, I may just be compelled to stay in Mexico forever. At this point, I'm pretty ambivalent as to which route I will take. Being educated is nice, and all, but I have a feeling that I could stretch a nice tan and an abundance of piña coladas out for a very, very long time.

I wouldn't say that I have senioritis, perse - I like college - but I am desperately looking forward to graduating. Not because I'm tired of school, but because I'm jealous of all my friends who are off and living in more exciting places with more culture than Conservative-ville, TX. So maybe, instead of senioritis, I have an advanced case of the-grass-is-greener-on-the-other-side-itis. Whatever.

Among things that don't suck about Texas: my car. Disregarding my tires, of course, one of which blew out on the fourth of July (should I capitalize fourth - since it's a holiday?). Okay, I can change a tire... but, unfortunately, my car lacks a spare. In its place: a subwoofer, installed by D-Bag Rick, the former owner of my Camaro. So, I had to get a tow. To NTB, because Discount Tire, where I purchased (or, should I say, Brandon purchased - but more on that later) my $800 set of racing tires, was closed. So, instead of paying for fireworks and booze on this particular holiday, my first choice, I paid for a tow and a cheap (sort of) tire to tie me over til I could get around to getting the blown-out one replaced. Fortunately, replacing the tire at Discount this week was only like $20, since it was still under warranty.

Speaking of Brandon! He called to inform me, the other day, that I had not yet paid certain medical bills that I originally received less than a month ago. Since my phone or electricity is not likely to be turned off if I do not pay these bills, I was originally not in much of a hurry to pay them, but, now that Brandon has decided to bug me about them (in the event that they could go against his credit), I have upgraded the urgency level of these bills to maybe. Right up there with light bulbs (which I actually DID buy - although it took me a few months to simultaneously be in Wal-Mart and remember that I can't see when I'm in the hall) - but waaay behind shoes. Maybe he should have been a bit more generous with that divorce settlement, eh? Oh, yes. I'm a bad ex-wife. Good thing I have no plans to get married again!

And, now, off to finish work for the afternoon, so I can start trying to convince somebody to rent The Unborn tonight. Demon fetus for the win!

I think just about everyone but me got the day off of work, so I'm retaliating against the man by writing a blog during my paid work hours. It's kind of an empty gesture, really, because my boss wouldn't care, but, you know. I can dream. And so, here I am, sipping on Big Red (por gratis, because my coworkers are trying to fatten me up), and wondering what I should say now.

Serving at Cracker Barrel has been going well, ever since they stopped playing the Wounded Warriors DVD on a loop. Wounded Warriors, as I now know (brain space I could maybe have used for something more important, like... well, anything), is a charity benefitting men and women who sustain injuries during their respective careers in the armed forces. Which is all fine and good, except for how, you know, the military DOES provide full-coverage healthcare, and disability. Meanwhile, people keep dying in other countries, which doesn't matter, apparently, because they didn't die for AMERICA. Sigh. I tried to relate this idea to another employee, only to be quickly shot down with a snippy"They DESERVE this. Is any of YOUR family in the military? Because, if they were, you would understand!" Sigh again.

And yet, soldier-worship is so prevalent. I keep seeing people join the Facebook group "Petition to remove 'soldiers are not heroes' from Facebook", and I have to wonder why. For one, the group is not going to accomplish anything, because saying that soldiers are not heroes is not a death threat, racial slur, or anything else that Facebook prohibits in its terms of use. It's just an unpopular idea.

Second, "Soldiers are not Heroes" makes a pretty good point: it's a little perilous to declare that all soldiers ARE heroes. Whether or not you agree with the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, I'm sure that it's pretty easy to accomodate the idea that a soldier who risks his life to save a fallen comrade, or something of that nature, is a hero. But, then, not all soldiers do such things. A few soldiers see the front lines... and some spend their deployments chilling out in an air-conditioned tent in Iraq. And some don't deploy, at all. And a lot of them sexually harass their fellow soldiers. Personally, I think that we need to stop exhalting soldiers. They are just ordinary people, getting paid to preform a dangerous job.

Last month, the Guardian published a really interesting article that deals with the prevailing attitude among the Big 3 (Islam, Judaism, and Christianity) that God hates women. Well, maybe he doesn't hate us, but he definitely created us to play supporting roles, at best.

The article is not anti-religious; actually, it seeks to reconcile religion to the modern blending of gender roles by pointing out that the abandonment of patriarchy does not necessarily need to lead to a disconnect from religion, but from history.

First, the authors gives examples of sexism in the modern practice of each of the Big 3: an Islamic man beating his daughter to death for liking a British guy, the Baptist church's official statement on the duties of womanhood (why, submission to our respective spouses, of course!), and a snide comment from the Pope in 2008, when he said that modern standards of gender equality take away from the differences that God established between the sexes.

None of this is groundbreaking, of course (and, Protestant-ly speaking, scant little of it is Biblical, either, considering Jesus' attitude toward and treatment of women), and, so, the article probes further, asking the question: "Why do so so many women actively participate in their own demeaning?" After all, we often make up a larger percentage of church-goers than men, even though we are typically stuffed into positions of subordinance and non-plus-ery. This is something about which I've often wondered, myself, and the article offered several possible explanations:

1. "Religions are sticky", and hard to get out of with any saving-of-face, especially for women, who are encouraged even less to think and act for themselves than their congregational male counterparts.

2. Because women, religious or not, tend to have more monotonous lives than men, going to church infuses a little excitement - provided the woman behaves herself and doesn't, OMG!, talk back to someone with a penis.

3. The article's final and, I think, ultimate answer is that religion consoles its members for what it has removed from them in the first place. Because religion often implements sexism in a big way, it also makes sure to let its members (men included, because it's not like they're all enjoying the pressures of traditional gender roles, either) know that life does, indeed, suck, but that God has something less crappy in store for them in the next life. Just as long as the men assume the responsibility of maintaining a dictatorship in their households, and the women are "submissive".

While all of the explanations make sense and are probably true in a lot of cases, the last one rings the most true for me, especially for those of us who were raised in the church. As the authors put it: "It's the sad, familiar, heartrending bargain in which the victim embraces the perpetrator, in some complicated, confusing, all-too-human mix of appeasement, need and stubborn loyalty. The fact that the embrace is all on one side is resolutely ignored."

Last night, I finished reading Charlotte Temple. This book was never exactly at the top of my reading list, but it was assigned to me for school. Sometimes, I get this weird urge to actually do my homework.

The story is frustrating, but at least it's simple - Charlotte is an unsuspecting innocent who, under the influence of a sketchy French schoolteacher and a manipulative suitor, makes the mistake of eloping to America. As a result, she dies. The book is sort of a Puritanical cautionary tale - young women, says the author, are not fit to decide whom they should and should not marry; that's up to the parents. Men, you see, are sneaky bastards, and will ship you off to America, get you pregnant, and then leave you. Forget finding another man once you're there, by the way, because, once you've lost your chastity, no man will take you seriously again. Ever.

Overlooking not-too-subtle message of "disobeying your parents and having premarital sex automatically leads to pregnancy and death", Rowson's warning to young women DOES have its roots in some sound reason. There weren't many autonomous women at that time, and, so, women depended on either their parents or husband for support. Breaking the ties between you and your parents left you entirely at the mercy of your significant other, so, if that failed, you probably would have pretty much just been screwed.

In America today, women do not suffer so much from a lack of potential to obtain autonomy (or birth control), but some people still cling to the method of finding a mate that Rowson proposes in her book. It's called courtship, and, in theory, it keeps you from having your heart broken by the dating game, because you'll never spend any time alone with your significant other until you're married. Rather, your parents will supervise all your interaction, and, ultimately, determine whether you can or cannot marry the person you are "courting". In Charlotte Temple, we see where the ideology behind courtship is rooted: young women are ruled by their emotions, and, so, their parents ought to guide them in choosing a mate. Otherwise, men will surely take advantage of us, and, heaven forbid, have sex with us, and we will get pregnant and die.

Last night's new Intervention might possibly rank as my second-favorite episode of all time, topped only by alcoholic/meth-head/frequently-nude Cristy ("I'm just on a permament good one that none of you guys will ever get to experience"). It featured Polish twins Sonia and Julia, who, due to some very dramatic sibling rivalry and codependency, had somehow both grown up to be some crazy, anorexic bitches.

The girls problems manifested due to their lifelong competition to be the "skinny twin". So, they kind of hated each other. But, then, they were practically attached at the hip, so they had to find a way to deal with their rivalry. The solution, of course, was to adopt the same exact rigorous diet and exercise routine, so that no one would have to worry about the other twin sneaking in, uh, less food.

Dark-haired twin was a dead ringer for Brandon's roommate's equally-skinny, equally-whiny girlfriend, so I got to enjoy a little vitriolic mental substitution, which was nice. The really interesting part of the show, though, was the way the parents of the twins reacted to their daughters' mental illness. As migrants from Poland, they just didn't get why anyone would struggle with food in such a way - they were just happy to be in America, where, in contrast to Poland, the getting is good, in the food department. I'm unsure of exiting data on this matter, but it seems like Anorexia is pretty much a product of our culture, which, contradictingly, offers us way more food than we need, and then encourages us to worship the bodies of unfed people.

A group of Evangelicals in Milwaukee, Wisconsin is plying the local government for the right to remove and burn a YA book about a gay teen (ALA). This article reminded me of a list of banned and contested books that my Adolescent Literature teacher showed the class last semester. The list also included various complaints made against the books - one individual called Steinbeck's The Grapes of Wrath "filth".

As someone who likes books a lot, I am strongly against the banning or burning of any work of literature, even books that I myself hate (although it would be really, really hard to resist attending a Wild at Heart bonfire). It's ridiculous that this still takes place today, but, then, I think of the fact that The Grapes of Wrath is generally considered to be pretty non-threatening, today. This book that's currently being contested in Wisconsin will eventually fall under the same category - after conservatives succeed only in making it desirable reading for young adults by drawing attention to its "wickedness".