I went to one of those reconstructive dental places yesterday. And I was told the SAME thing I have heard 100,000 times before, which is that I am not alone in my odd dental situation but that there is nothing they can do. I was given the name of an oral surgeon which happened to be someone I have already seen and could "do nothing" so I have officially come full circle. I have baby teeth. And I have the grown up teeth that should be where the baby teeth are impacted in the roof of my mouth and it's been just an annoying thing until recently when the bone on bone action has been making my gums recede and now I can't eat ice cream. Yes, I wrote bone on bone action, let it go.
When I was a kid my sister had braces and retainers. I'm not incredibly sure why, with only 16 months difference between my sister and I, my parents didn't also take me in but it ended up being a fateful decision. My father then lost his dental insurance due to some kind of judgement call by a pencil pusher in the school district head office or whatever the school district calls their offices where they run things from. So I did not have dental insurance until I was in my 20's. And it was quite a surprise to hear I had baby teeth in my mouth. I thought those things kind of took care of themselves. I should have gotten braces then but in my 20's I was already supporting myself through college and the idea of taking on 5 grand in debt blew my mind. Then I got engaged and paid for my own ring, my wedding photos, my invitations, my reception and my apartment. I also was paying for my fiance because his folks didn't believe if they put him through school he should hold down a job. So I just had veneers put over my tiny eye teeth and went about my life. My mother at one point took me to the WORST hack dentist that gave me retainers that spread my teeth and I wore forever and never went anywhere. The same guy ended up pulling my wisdom teeth and didn't wait for the anesthesia to kick in and I screamed through the entire procedure. If I had been a stronger person I would have just gotten out of the chair and ran and then slapped him with a giant lawsuit. As it was I let him finish the procedure in hopes the meds would kick in any second. My mother could hear me screaming from the front and asked to come back and see me, instead of breaking down the door like I would have if my kid was SCREAMING. Later when she called to give them a piece of her mind they offered to cut our bill in half and she took it. I would have told them I wasn't paying them one red cent but there you see the difference in our parenting styles when she was my age.
SO I have lived with the veneers, which I had to replace once when I kept having issues with chewing, and I have them still today. All in all I have to have four teeth pulled and then the roof of my mouth opened up and the two grown teeth impacted in there removed, then bone grafted. I'd then have to wear a plate with fake teeth while the bone graft heals. Then they'd go in there and bolt four new fake teeth into the gaps. But once I have those four fake teeth they can't actually put braces on so even still, my teeth will not be STRAIGHT. All of this should cost just about 10 grand. So I live with my messed up grill and I intake my ice cream in the form of shakes and enter a bunch of online contests that offer free dental makeovers. And I sit and stew in my frustration and anger over everyone and their normal parents and their perfect teeth which is pretty much all day every day seeing as how I work in film in the state of Utah, land of white straight perfect teeth. I watched Soul Surfer last night, which by the way is the dumbest title for a film pretty much ever, and I'm looking at this girl who doesn't think she's beautiful because she has lost an arm and I'm like, "Yeah but seriously, her teeth are friggin perfect."
Friday, September 30, 2011
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
An Email to an Old Friend
I would say I'm a liberal. I don't believe in corporal punishment anymore because if the state of Texas can posthumously exonerate 17 executed men via DNA evidence, that is all I need to know about that. I believe in Gay marriage because we have our temple, we get married there, so why not let them do their thing?? (That's rhetorical.) I believe women have the right to abort a baby safely if it's life threatening or in the case of rape and incest preferably if it's very VERY early term (morning after pill is the best option IMO in these abhorrent scenarios.) I do constantly think and re-think my opinions and I have a hard time saying, "This is what I believe in" and putting an eternal stamp on it because I'm willing to be wrong and I'm open to changing my mind, like I did about the death penalty, which I used to be hugely in favor of after I studied criminology.
The one thing I do believe in is the importance of the government's welfare system and ORS. And recently when a friend respectfully commented in the contrary to something political I posted on Facebook I did take time to think about what he posted, because he made good points, points I had often pondered about myself. But here is what I wrote in the email I sent to him after. It wasn't a smack-down and it wasn't an IN YOUR FACE DUDE retort so if you're looking for that crap, go to YouTube and look at the comments on cat videos. I'm just posting it to be posting it. Here it is, almost in it's entirety:
I know this isn't going to change your views or anything, I'm just hoping to explain why I believe so strongly what I do and lend a little "liberal" perspective. For me this debate is highly personal because during my first pregnancy I was cheated on. Oh no, wait, it gets worse. The second man who knocked me up left me *because* I got pregnant. The world is getting worse and grown people are not taking care of their own anymore, they are more interested in money, status and playing around. I was pregnant and homeless with a 4 year old and one baby daddy who wouldn't pay ANY child support. I needed ORS to go after BD #2 on my behalf because when I went to him to negotiate support he said not only would he not pay, he was suing ME for getting pregnant. True story.
The reason I tell you this is because for every crack addict who abuses welfare or subsidized daycare or whatever, there is a decent person who NEEDS it to survive a massive unforeseen personal catastrophe.
My family believed I should learn to stand on my own two feet, never mind there were actually 6 feet standing in my shoes, and my church actually said no to assisting me financially. My bishop told me to get a cheaper apt. (I was already splitting the rent.) He also told me I should instead pay them, in the form of tithing, which was hard to hear, but I'm grateful because that happens to be a true principal that changed my life...
People at facilities thought because I "looked" capable/middle class and seemed fine mentally I didn't need their help, so I was last priority. But it was the government that helped me, without condition, to get free DNA testing done in order to force him to pay child support and to get back support in order to feed my kids. I also received a daycare subsidy while I worked three jobs before support kicked in. If I had to do it all over again, I would have quit, accepted more assistance and stayed home with my baby. I have worked and paid taxes since I was 14, I earned that help. The government was there for me when no one else was and it made me fiercely loyal. I had case workers that became a great source of support. It HAS to be the government that meters out this kind of massive, wide spread, unconditional assistance. I don't think, I KNOW, others won't always be there for you like you think they will.
I would also like to state that one person did step up and help me, and that was my ex step-sister Amanda, who not only was there for me during the pregnancy but after and even watched my baby for me while I worked, even though she struggled with the pain of chronic ear infections that kept her from being able to do the job she loved. She is what being Christian looks like. She cheerfully went about helping me through the single worst time of my life by reading scriptures with me and praying with me and holding my knees while I had contractions. No judgements, just love in action. She deserves all the miracles that have happened for her, I'm happy to know her. But since we aren't all blessed with a team of Amanda's at our disposal (everyone should be so lucky) I believe strongly in Government assistance for the needy. I believe in Welfare. I believe in ORS. This is what I believe in, *eternal stamp.
The one thing I do believe in is the importance of the government's welfare system and ORS. And recently when a friend respectfully commented in the contrary to something political I posted on Facebook I did take time to think about what he posted, because he made good points, points I had often pondered about myself. But here is what I wrote in the email I sent to him after. It wasn't a smack-down and it wasn't an IN YOUR FACE DUDE retort so if you're looking for that crap, go to YouTube and look at the comments on cat videos. I'm just posting it to be posting it. Here it is, almost in it's entirety:
I know this isn't going to change your views or anything, I'm just hoping to explain why I believe so strongly what I do and lend a little "liberal" perspective. For me this debate is highly personal because during my first pregnancy I was cheated on. Oh no, wait, it gets worse. The second man who knocked me up left me *because* I got pregnant. The world is getting worse and grown people are not taking care of their own anymore, they are more interested in money, status and playing around. I was pregnant and homeless with a 4 year old and one baby daddy who wouldn't pay ANY child support. I needed ORS to go after BD #2 on my behalf because when I went to him to negotiate support he said not only would he not pay, he was suing ME for getting pregnant. True story.
The reason I tell you this is because for every crack addict who abuses welfare or subsidized daycare or whatever, there is a decent person who NEEDS it to survive a massive unforeseen personal catastrophe.
My family believed I should learn to stand on my own two feet, never mind there were actually 6 feet standing in my shoes, and my church actually said no to assisting me financially. My bishop told me to get a cheaper apt. (I was already splitting the rent.) He also told me I should instead pay them, in the form of tithing, which was hard to hear, but I'm grateful because that happens to be a true principal that changed my life...
People at facilities thought because I "looked" capable/middle class and seemed fine mentally I didn't need their help, so I was last priority. But it was the government that helped me, without condition, to get free DNA testing done in order to force him to pay child support and to get back support in order to feed my kids. I also received a daycare subsidy while I worked three jobs before support kicked in. If I had to do it all over again, I would have quit, accepted more assistance and stayed home with my baby. I have worked and paid taxes since I was 14, I earned that help. The government was there for me when no one else was and it made me fiercely loyal. I had case workers that became a great source of support. It HAS to be the government that meters out this kind of massive, wide spread, unconditional assistance. I don't think, I KNOW, others won't always be there for you like you think they will.
I would also like to state that one person did step up and help me, and that was my ex step-sister Amanda, who not only was there for me during the pregnancy but after and even watched my baby for me while I worked, even though she struggled with the pain of chronic ear infections that kept her from being able to do the job she loved. She is what being Christian looks like. She cheerfully went about helping me through the single worst time of my life by reading scriptures with me and praying with me and holding my knees while I had contractions. No judgements, just love in action. She deserves all the miracles that have happened for her, I'm happy to know her. But since we aren't all blessed with a team of Amanda's at our disposal (everyone should be so lucky) I believe strongly in Government assistance for the needy. I believe in Welfare. I believe in ORS. This is what I believe in, *eternal stamp.
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Reality Doesn't Bite as Much as Delusion.
The 90's have been everywhere for a while but I wasn't in the full throws of 90's nostalgia until yesterday. First, I heard Smells Like Teen Spirit on the radio driving to the State Fair. I found myself gripping the steering wheel and recalling with perfect clarity a night out dancing with Amy and Liz when that song exploded over the speakers at the Ivy Tower and the place just blew up. Secondly, on the way home my iPod played August and Everything After by Counting Crows and I pictured the Sundance Party I was at with Adam Duritz, Darren Aronofsky, Sean Gullette and I swear Paul Rudd but it may have been Jack Plotnick, memory is a tricky thing. I shouldn't have "gone there" though because that party brought back with it the memory that after many dirty martinis David and I "Night at the Roxberry-ed" Sean Gullette while Darren Aronofsky watched on from the balcony in between fits of laughter. Once home I put the kids down and Google Imaged "The 90's". That's where it kicked me in the rear end like a really obvious combat boot simile, I had to watch Reality Bites.
This movie was the impetuous for a lot of things for me when it came out. But me being in my early 20's and stupid it wasn't the impetuous for what it should have been, namely me trying to become like Winona's character in the right ways, say by studying film and becoming class valedictorian. I wish it had. Instead it inspired me in all the wrong, superficial ways. I already had the divorced parents and the wardrobe but I didn't smoke, have a messy short hair cut and a best-friend turned boyfriend. I set about remedying all of that. Being too egotistical to accept that in reality I needed a much more feminine face to carry off a short hair cut and that it takes a lot of hair styling talent and money to produce perfectly messy results I ended up with a bad $20.00 cut from a Hair School Sophomore. Then I tried to kiss my best friend. You can read about that HERE. I had never entertained the idea before, I knew there was a line in the sand, I also knew if he found me even remotely attractive he would have cared to try something. But he was going with friends to see the film, and I felt that if he were going, he needed to be thinking about me.
I spent the 90's much of this way. Working retail, wishing I was anything and anyone other than what I was. I wanted to be Winona, I wanted to be the amazingly cool redheaded window dresser we had that came into the store once a month or so, I wanted to be my Manager at JMR. I wanted to be like everyone else, but not me. I wanted to be amazing and beautiful and I wanted attention and I wanted to be the center of the universe. And everything I did was some kind of attempt at attention, at soothing my broken heart, my broken soul, my enormous friggin ego. It was all about me me me. The best part is that every single solitary time I tried to elevate myself I crashed and burned incredibly hard. Back then, I was confused about how to get what I wanted. I thought I could make things happen just because I wished them to come to be. But the things I wished to exist were not based in reality. They were based in delusion.
It occurred to me a couple of weeks ago that I was really happy. I don't know if in my lifetime I have ever had a moment when I thought I was really happy. But in the car driving to Ikea with Brett and BR I had the realization that we had a fun house we were decorating and I loved my job and the kids were growing up and becoming super funny/ great people and I was just really happy and blessed. The difference between then and now is 100% ego. The reason why I did any of the things I did back then was ego. It was about creating something, yes, I was trying to create my reality, but I was using delusion to do it. I was doing what my Step-Mom called "Futurizing". I would imagine in my mind a future day when my hair looked like X and my boyfriend was Y and it would = Happy. I thought I could Art Direct my life, but reality isn't a film you can Art Direct into awesomeness.
My mom says that in all of us there is a God shaped void. And people try and put sex, drugs, rock 'n' roll, food, alcohol, what have you inside of it and are confused when the results don't turn out. That was the entire 90's for me. I was taking Winona and putting her into the God shaped hole in my heart. That may be the weirdest sentence I've ever written but there it is, and I think you know what I mean by it. If you don't, I don't know what to say to you. Have you SEEN her in that movie?
This movie was the impetuous for a lot of things for me when it came out. But me being in my early 20's and stupid it wasn't the impetuous for what it should have been, namely me trying to become like Winona's character in the right ways, say by studying film and becoming class valedictorian. I wish it had. Instead it inspired me in all the wrong, superficial ways. I already had the divorced parents and the wardrobe but I didn't smoke, have a messy short hair cut and a best-friend turned boyfriend. I set about remedying all of that. Being too egotistical to accept that in reality I needed a much more feminine face to carry off a short hair cut and that it takes a lot of hair styling talent and money to produce perfectly messy results I ended up with a bad $20.00 cut from a Hair School Sophomore. Then I tried to kiss my best friend. You can read about that HERE. I had never entertained the idea before, I knew there was a line in the sand, I also knew if he found me even remotely attractive he would have cared to try something. But he was going with friends to see the film, and I felt that if he were going, he needed to be thinking about me.
I spent the 90's much of this way. Working retail, wishing I was anything and anyone other than what I was. I wanted to be Winona, I wanted to be the amazingly cool redheaded window dresser we had that came into the store once a month or so, I wanted to be my Manager at JMR. I wanted to be like everyone else, but not me. I wanted to be amazing and beautiful and I wanted attention and I wanted to be the center of the universe. And everything I did was some kind of attempt at attention, at soothing my broken heart, my broken soul, my enormous friggin ego. It was all about me me me. The best part is that every single solitary time I tried to elevate myself I crashed and burned incredibly hard. Back then, I was confused about how to get what I wanted. I thought I could make things happen just because I wished them to come to be. But the things I wished to exist were not based in reality. They were based in delusion.
It occurred to me a couple of weeks ago that I was really happy. I don't know if in my lifetime I have ever had a moment when I thought I was really happy. But in the car driving to Ikea with Brett and BR I had the realization that we had a fun house we were decorating and I loved my job and the kids were growing up and becoming super funny/ great people and I was just really happy and blessed. The difference between then and now is 100% ego. The reason why I did any of the things I did back then was ego. It was about creating something, yes, I was trying to create my reality, but I was using delusion to do it. I was doing what my Step-Mom called "Futurizing". I would imagine in my mind a future day when my hair looked like X and my boyfriend was Y and it would = Happy. I thought I could Art Direct my life, but reality isn't a film you can Art Direct into awesomeness.
My mom says that in all of us there is a God shaped void. And people try and put sex, drugs, rock 'n' roll, food, alcohol, what have you inside of it and are confused when the results don't turn out. That was the entire 90's for me. I was taking Winona and putting her into the God shaped hole in my heart. That may be the weirdest sentence I've ever written but there it is, and I think you know what I mean by it. If you don't, I don't know what to say to you. Have you SEEN her in that movie?
Friday, September 16, 2011
The $200.00 Diet Dr Pepper.
I told the girls at lunch today about breaking my phone. Right now I'm not able to call out on my phone but I am able to accept incoming calls, which of course begged the question, "How did that weirdness happen?" And to answer I had two choices...sip my drink and shrug my shoulders and look away and point at something outside...or I could tell the truth. I told the truth. The truth is that I went to Target with a fever because I wanted Missoni so badly.
Carina texted and told me that there were still a few little girl's items left. But that I had to hurry because all the Missoni was flying off the shelves. Now, it had taken me five hours to wake up, get out of bed and onto the couch where I received this text. I got the kids off to school, then went back to bed until after one. One week of little to no sleep every night and 18 hour days of hard physical labor and shooting and oddly, my body kind of gave out. This is the relationship I have with my body, I expect it to do what I want, when I want it to, Hashi's or no Hashi's. I have little sympathy I'm rocking a disease. I also think I should be able to eat and drink what I want and it should have no bearing on whether or not my body performs. In fact, I'm sort of bewildered still when I can't make it function on no sleep and maybe a grape for breakfast. In short, I am my own Russian gymnastics coach.
Five hours it took me to get to the couch and four minutes to get dressed and into my car when I read the words, "Missoni" and "Target" in the same text. I drove over there with the air conditioning cranked and cash already in my planner. I grabbed a sick amount of stuff with the idea that I should let Boo try stuff on and tell me which ones she liked. "She can't keep it all," I told myself, "So I'll let her choose her favorites. But I'll have to buy it all first because if I don't, it will all be gone." You see how my fever mind is working...
So I pack the cart, but in my defense, I did put back two pairs of shoes (for me), mugs, and one pair of galoshes for B so my total could have been so, so much worse than it was. I head to the register and I decide, fatefully, to buy a Diet Dr Pepper. I hadn't eaten yet that day and I felt light headed, but I was also wearing skin that was intentionally overheating to kill off foreign entities that it deemed dangerous to my person. I am basically the temperature of convenience store cocoa. I may have even had pit circles...I don't know. On the drive home I get a call from my kids who are just walking in the door and wondering where I am. I let them know I am three blocks from home. I feel awful though, from being sick, yes, but also because even if my kids beat me home by just three measly minutes I feel like the worst mother in the world. Never mind they know to lock the doors and that my oldest is four years older than I was when I babysat a family of four boys every day after school. I grabbed my bags and ran inside the house, but not before I threw the Diet DP into my purse to bring it into the house because my hands were full of friggin MISSONI BAGS. I put my purse down on the floor and gave the Missoni over the the girl who loved everything and of course gets to keep everything. I walked past my bag after showing everything to the girl and said out loud, "Why is my purse in a puddle on the floor... MY PURSE IS IN A PUDDLE ON THE FLOOR!" The DP had tipped on it's side, and I had not tightened the lid.
When I showed my phone to the guy at the Apple store (after primping my sorry old lady self up in a sad attempt to garner male favor) he opened it up and said that all four of the red sensors at the openings that tell them if a phone has been wet were tripped and showed me the condensation still on the inside of the plastic. He handed me back my phone and not only told me there was nothing he could do but tried to sell me on a new computer and some classes. Sadly, I don't still "got it". I bet if I had a half-hawk and good teeth I'd have a new phone right now.
The moral of this story is...I don't have a clue. Don't go shopping with a fever? Make sure you turn your drink lid one extra twist before putting it in your purse? Wait, maybe it's before you buy a soda, ask yourself, is this Dr Pepper worth the contents of my purse and a humiliating trip to the Apple store? Cause sometimes, you know, the answer would still be yes.
Carina texted and told me that there were still a few little girl's items left. But that I had to hurry because all the Missoni was flying off the shelves. Now, it had taken me five hours to wake up, get out of bed and onto the couch where I received this text. I got the kids off to school, then went back to bed until after one. One week of little to no sleep every night and 18 hour days of hard physical labor and shooting and oddly, my body kind of gave out. This is the relationship I have with my body, I expect it to do what I want, when I want it to, Hashi's or no Hashi's. I have little sympathy I'm rocking a disease. I also think I should be able to eat and drink what I want and it should have no bearing on whether or not my body performs. In fact, I'm sort of bewildered still when I can't make it function on no sleep and maybe a grape for breakfast. In short, I am my own Russian gymnastics coach.
Five hours it took me to get to the couch and four minutes to get dressed and into my car when I read the words, "Missoni" and "Target" in the same text. I drove over there with the air conditioning cranked and cash already in my planner. I grabbed a sick amount of stuff with the idea that I should let Boo try stuff on and tell me which ones she liked. "She can't keep it all," I told myself, "So I'll let her choose her favorites. But I'll have to buy it all first because if I don't, it will all be gone." You see how my fever mind is working...
So I pack the cart, but in my defense, I did put back two pairs of shoes (for me), mugs, and one pair of galoshes for B so my total could have been so, so much worse than it was. I head to the register and I decide, fatefully, to buy a Diet Dr Pepper. I hadn't eaten yet that day and I felt light headed, but I was also wearing skin that was intentionally overheating to kill off foreign entities that it deemed dangerous to my person. I am basically the temperature of convenience store cocoa. I may have even had pit circles...I don't know. On the drive home I get a call from my kids who are just walking in the door and wondering where I am. I let them know I am three blocks from home. I feel awful though, from being sick, yes, but also because even if my kids beat me home by just three measly minutes I feel like the worst mother in the world. Never mind they know to lock the doors and that my oldest is four years older than I was when I babysat a family of four boys every day after school. I grabbed my bags and ran inside the house, but not before I threw the Diet DP into my purse to bring it into the house because my hands were full of friggin MISSONI BAGS. I put my purse down on the floor and gave the Missoni over the the girl who loved everything and of course gets to keep everything. I walked past my bag after showing everything to the girl and said out loud, "Why is my purse in a puddle on the floor... MY PURSE IS IN A PUDDLE ON THE FLOOR!" The DP had tipped on it's side, and I had not tightened the lid.
When I showed my phone to the guy at the Apple store (after primping my sorry old lady self up in a sad attempt to garner male favor) he opened it up and said that all four of the red sensors at the openings that tell them if a phone has been wet were tripped and showed me the condensation still on the inside of the plastic. He handed me back my phone and not only told me there was nothing he could do but tried to sell me on a new computer and some classes. Sadly, I don't still "got it". I bet if I had a half-hawk and good teeth I'd have a new phone right now.
The moral of this story is...I don't have a clue. Don't go shopping with a fever? Make sure you turn your drink lid one extra twist before putting it in your purse? Wait, maybe it's before you buy a soda, ask yourself, is this Dr Pepper worth the contents of my purse and a humiliating trip to the Apple store? Cause sometimes, you know, the answer would still be yes.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
What It Looked Like.
I was married once before. It's true. I never talk about it. Some of my best friends don't even know anything about it. My ex-husband recently found me on FB and I have been thinking a lot about our marriage since then. I usually try not to. I was 21. I didn't know my own mind, I was sad and terribly heartbroken. I was "inactive" in my church, I had no support system, no job, no money, no Kurt Cobain. I was trying to stop drinking and I was trying to leave my party friends. I was in an apartment near BYU and so I started walking to Annie's Video and renting 3-4 videos a day in an attempt to not drink or see my friends. I decided that I was broken and I would never be in love again, that I should just find someone who could accept me, someone I could be friends with, and I should settle down. Yes, that must be the answer to all of my problems. I should get married.
He was a friend of my roommates. And we had fun together. We'd play tennis and he got my weird humor. We were good at partnering up and taking care of each other's problems, which mostly seemed to be getting by financially. He said we had to be married in the temple, which I didn't really want but I went along with. I was off the church at the time because of a few factors. First, when I was 18, exactly 20 years ago, I had been in a serious physical relationship with a young man we'll call "Bill". He was funny and affectionate and sincere and adored me and Bill was a return missionary. Now, I had not been raised in the church, and I had activated myself when I was a teenager. I had a strong testimony of the Book of Mormon, which I had read many times, but I didn't know doctrine. I knew nothing about the Temple either. I just knew that Bill had been through it before and that it was somehow more serious for him to mess up. So we tried not to. But have you all seen The Notebook? Read Twilight? Daniele Steele? I actually had that. In real life. For one year. And then Bill left me for another girl he felt impressed to marry and I was devastated. I never wanted to take another breath ever again. I laid in the fetal position and cried for three days. To make matters worse, he got remarried in the Temple before I was even allowed to take the Sacrament. You read that right. Most people said, "Oh, he must have lied to his church leaders." He didn't. They let him. Even though he had made temple covenants and I wasn't even raised in the church and I activated my own self. Now, for some reason, from then on, every ward I moved into the Bishop would ask to meet with me. And in 100% of those meetings they would say, "So tell me about this young man." And I was like, "WTH, do these dudes have a friggin FILE with this stuff in it??" And why isn't this just going away for me like it went away for Bill. I bet he doesn't still have anyone asking HIM questions about what happened. It felt humiliating and it felt unfair and it made me feel like it was all my fault. Like somehow I was the one that was designated to pay for that situation and he was given a free pass. It felt like the message was that men can just move on without consequence. And this made me SOOO angry. And I thought I was no longer the kind of girl that anyone that I would really want would really want. And this made me feel hopeless. And none of these sweet caring Bishops knew what to say to me in any small way. And it went on like this for years.
Second factor, My mother was in a homosexual relationship. Which was a trendy concept in the 90s but only if you were in your 20s and on the CW. I had supportive people, confused people, consoling people, angry people, and condescending people come up to me and tell me how I should handle the situation. The more I tried to figure out what to do, the more confused I got. I knew this woman, I knew she was not gay. The relationship happened because Helen said she loved my mom, and my mom loved people to love her. I knew I should just wait it out until it was over. And I knew it would be over. But something about it just broke my spirit. Knowing that whatever it was that made other people's parents understand the importance of being respectable and normal and having boundaries and standards, my parents would never have that. I was mourning the childhood I never had, the parent I would never have and the man I would never have. Who would want to marry someone like me, with a family like mine? And for all of these reasons I began drinking a large amount of alcohol at frequent intervals.
So you can see why I was happy to find a nice boy who wanted to marry me. We got engaged in a comedy of errors kind of way and then we began weekly meetings with our Bishop, because it's what I did professionally at that point, meet with Bishops, and he tells us we have one-on-ones with the Stake President before we can get married. Sigh. But I decided to go through with it even though I was frustrated with the entire process. I walk in and the S.P. says to me, (all together now), "Tell me about this young man, Bill." My jaw hit the floor. I explained my story to him and then, he did what no one else did. He pulled out a notebook, asked me where Bill was and asked for his information. I asked him why he wanted to know. He said he wanted to find out what had happened with Bill's Bishop to erroneously allow him to be married in the Temple when he was clearly not worthy. Now I was really confused. I mean, it was over, Bill was married. What were they going to do? Pull him into meetings with his current Bishop and make him answer for it all these years later? Were they gonna put him through Church Court because of me, if I "turn him in"? Is that even what he is asking me to do? I secretly kinda wanna turn him in but I can see this will just not do, to be vindictive about this. I tell him I don't know where Bill is or how to begin to find him, which was true. I am laughing out of nervousness and also the absurdity of it all and because I am becoming super duper uncomfortable. And the man then tells me to my face that I am clearly "...too immature to get married". And he won't sign the recommend. He says we have to wait six months. I have family members flying in from out of the state. They already have their tickets. I leave even more apathetic towards the church than ever before.
I try and talk my future spouse into not getting married in the temple. He says his little brothers and sisters will be looking up to him and he can't get married anywhere else. Fine. My bishop hears about what the Stake President said and he is mad. He doesn't agree with him at all so he calls him to tell him he thinks he's making a mistake and they GET IN A FIGHT. So here is my last straw testimony breaker right here...why would two men, with this kind of stewardship over me, disagree over something they both receive revelation over? Why would they both get two different answers about something as huge as my future? I thought that if the spirit was real, they both should have gotten the same answer.
Part of coming back into the church required me reconciling the things that happened during this time of my life. And one day after prayer it just downloaded into my head that I kept being asked about "that guy" because God wanted me to come back. I wasn't being hounded because it was all my fault, I was being hounded so I could repent fully for the situation and get it off my back because it was ruining my life. I made about 100,000 bad decisions as a result of this one bad relationship, where he was able to turn around and marry the right girl and move on with no long term consequence, other than the guilt and the weighty conscience that I hoped that he had. I still hope he had. It just didn't effect him long term the way it effected me. And only God would know that. About Bishop v. Stake President, after 15 years I can see that they both were right. The wedding should have been called off, we should never have gotten married, neither of us were ready, and I certainly didn't love him the way I should have. (Sorry Dev.) But my Bishop knew the Stake President didn't handle it right and he could feel we weren't being supported and helped in the right way. And my Stake Pres. was right that it was wrong but he was wrong about why it wasn't right. Well maybe he was a little right, I was pretty immature. In the end this actually built up my testimony. I was trying to be inactive, trying my darnedest, and God was calling me in and making me talk about my problems because he didn't want to let me go. Gods a pretty cool guy.
He was a friend of my roommates. And we had fun together. We'd play tennis and he got my weird humor. We were good at partnering up and taking care of each other's problems, which mostly seemed to be getting by financially. He said we had to be married in the temple, which I didn't really want but I went along with. I was off the church at the time because of a few factors. First, when I was 18, exactly 20 years ago, I had been in a serious physical relationship with a young man we'll call "Bill". He was funny and affectionate and sincere and adored me and Bill was a return missionary. Now, I had not been raised in the church, and I had activated myself when I was a teenager. I had a strong testimony of the Book of Mormon, which I had read many times, but I didn't know doctrine. I knew nothing about the Temple either. I just knew that Bill had been through it before and that it was somehow more serious for him to mess up. So we tried not to. But have you all seen The Notebook? Read Twilight? Daniele Steele? I actually had that. In real life. For one year. And then Bill left me for another girl he felt impressed to marry and I was devastated. I never wanted to take another breath ever again. I laid in the fetal position and cried for three days. To make matters worse, he got remarried in the Temple before I was even allowed to take the Sacrament. You read that right. Most people said, "Oh, he must have lied to his church leaders." He didn't. They let him. Even though he had made temple covenants and I wasn't even raised in the church and I activated my own self. Now, for some reason, from then on, every ward I moved into the Bishop would ask to meet with me. And in 100% of those meetings they would say, "So tell me about this young man." And I was like, "WTH, do these dudes have a friggin FILE with this stuff in it??" And why isn't this just going away for me like it went away for Bill. I bet he doesn't still have anyone asking HIM questions about what happened. It felt humiliating and it felt unfair and it made me feel like it was all my fault. Like somehow I was the one that was designated to pay for that situation and he was given a free pass. It felt like the message was that men can just move on without consequence. And this made me SOOO angry. And I thought I was no longer the kind of girl that anyone that I would really want would really want. And this made me feel hopeless. And none of these sweet caring Bishops knew what to say to me in any small way. And it went on like this for years.
Second factor, My mother was in a homosexual relationship. Which was a trendy concept in the 90s but only if you were in your 20s and on the CW. I had supportive people, confused people, consoling people, angry people, and condescending people come up to me and tell me how I should handle the situation. The more I tried to figure out what to do, the more confused I got. I knew this woman, I knew she was not gay. The relationship happened because Helen said she loved my mom, and my mom loved people to love her. I knew I should just wait it out until it was over. And I knew it would be over. But something about it just broke my spirit. Knowing that whatever it was that made other people's parents understand the importance of being respectable and normal and having boundaries and standards, my parents would never have that. I was mourning the childhood I never had, the parent I would never have and the man I would never have. Who would want to marry someone like me, with a family like mine? And for all of these reasons I began drinking a large amount of alcohol at frequent intervals.
So you can see why I was happy to find a nice boy who wanted to marry me. We got engaged in a comedy of errors kind of way and then we began weekly meetings with our Bishop, because it's what I did professionally at that point, meet with Bishops, and he tells us we have one-on-ones with the Stake President before we can get married. Sigh. But I decided to go through with it even though I was frustrated with the entire process. I walk in and the S.P. says to me, (all together now), "Tell me about this young man, Bill." My jaw hit the floor. I explained my story to him and then, he did what no one else did. He pulled out a notebook, asked me where Bill was and asked for his information. I asked him why he wanted to know. He said he wanted to find out what had happened with Bill's Bishop to erroneously allow him to be married in the Temple when he was clearly not worthy. Now I was really confused. I mean, it was over, Bill was married. What were they going to do? Pull him into meetings with his current Bishop and make him answer for it all these years later? Were they gonna put him through Church Court because of me, if I "turn him in"? Is that even what he is asking me to do? I secretly kinda wanna turn him in but I can see this will just not do, to be vindictive about this. I tell him I don't know where Bill is or how to begin to find him, which was true. I am laughing out of nervousness and also the absurdity of it all and because I am becoming super duper uncomfortable. And the man then tells me to my face that I am clearly "...too immature to get married". And he won't sign the recommend. He says we have to wait six months. I have family members flying in from out of the state. They already have their tickets. I leave even more apathetic towards the church than ever before.
I try and talk my future spouse into not getting married in the temple. He says his little brothers and sisters will be looking up to him and he can't get married anywhere else. Fine. My bishop hears about what the Stake President said and he is mad. He doesn't agree with him at all so he calls him to tell him he thinks he's making a mistake and they GET IN A FIGHT. So here is my last straw testimony breaker right here...why would two men, with this kind of stewardship over me, disagree over something they both receive revelation over? Why would they both get two different answers about something as huge as my future? I thought that if the spirit was real, they both should have gotten the same answer.
Part of coming back into the church required me reconciling the things that happened during this time of my life. And one day after prayer it just downloaded into my head that I kept being asked about "that guy" because God wanted me to come back. I wasn't being hounded because it was all my fault, I was being hounded so I could repent fully for the situation and get it off my back because it was ruining my life. I made about 100,000 bad decisions as a result of this one bad relationship, where he was able to turn around and marry the right girl and move on with no long term consequence, other than the guilt and the weighty conscience that I hoped that he had. I still hope he had. It just didn't effect him long term the way it effected me. And only God would know that. About Bishop v. Stake President, after 15 years I can see that they both were right. The wedding should have been called off, we should never have gotten married, neither of us were ready, and I certainly didn't love him the way I should have. (Sorry Dev.) But my Bishop knew the Stake President didn't handle it right and he could feel we weren't being supported and helped in the right way. And my Stake Pres. was right that it was wrong but he was wrong about why it wasn't right. Well maybe he was a little right, I was pretty immature. In the end this actually built up my testimony. I was trying to be inactive, trying my darnedest, and God was calling me in and making me talk about my problems because he didn't want to let me go. Gods a pretty cool guy.
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Two Short Stories That May Just Change Your Life.
Today a gentleman stood up and told two stories. To me, these stories are the crystallization of the Gospel of Jesus Christ. Whether the people in the second story were Christian or not, I do not know, but they certainly acted as if they were the very definition.
In the first story, a farmer, we'll call him Dale, noticed an issue with his irrigation. The water began to wane in one area. So he checked it out and found that a neighbor, a fellow crop farmer, had dammed up the irrigation ditch and was usurping the water. So Dale took out a shovel and went with his boys to the area of the blockage and began to dig it out, so the water would return to his land. The man who had created the dam was so angry he actually took out an axe and went after Dale, who used his shovel to staunchly defend his right to the water. The altercation ended with incredibly bad feelings. The man who had dammed the water began to openly hate Dale's family. It came time to harvest. And Dale loaded up his kids in the truck to go to work harvesting his lands. But as he drove along, he took an unexpected turn into the other neighbor's property. The children thought he had lost his mind. But he explained that he had heard that the man was sick, too sick to harvest his own fruit, and he knew it had to be done immediately. So the man and his children, before even harvesting a single bit from their own farm, went and worked one full day for this man and placed the produce carefully at the back porch. One of the children remembered keeping one eye on their work, and one eye on the back door in case he came out with the axe again. The man was so grateful at the end of it all that he told Dale how sorry he was and at Dale's funeral years later he said how much of an example Dale had been and that he had become his best friend.
The second story was about a man who had a bad year of auto accidents, and to make matters worse, they kept happening in other people's cars. He knew he had a jack and a spare, etc. in his own car, but in other people's cars you are the mercy of their idea of preparedness and they seemed to always be lacking. So this particular year that he kept having issues he noticed that no one in America stops to help a fellow traveler in trouble anymore. Whether it's because we are all wary about safety or in too big of a hurry, whatever the reason, the only people that kept coming to his aid were immigrant workers. One time he was in a friend's Jeep and got a flat but didn't have the tools, only a spare. And again, no one would stop. So he put out a sign, NEED JACK, WILL PAY $$. Shortly after, a group of immigrant workers from Mexico stopped to help. It was a family. The father got out and came over with his English speaking daughter to help translate. They were here in America to pick produce for two weeks before returning home. So they got out their jack but the Jeep was too high and so they actually found some wood and cut it down to act as a brace for the jack. Now I personally have never heard of this but I guess he had a folding tire iron and the thing broke. The head came clean off. But the man explained to his wife in Spanish what he needed and sent her away in the van and she returned with a different iron and the men went back to work. It must have been something of a feat because to hear the way the speaker told it the men were muddy sweaty, smelly, messes by the end of it all. But the family had a jug of water and so the men were able to clean themselves up after and refresh themselves. The traveler tried to give this family money but the man wouldn't take it. So he went over to the mother and snuck a 20 dollar bill to her as quietly as he could. As he was getting back into his Jeep the daughter asked if the man had eaten yet. He said no, and was in fact starving after all of this time and effort. The girl handed out the window a tamale wrapped up in tin foil. The traveler took it back to his friend's Jeep and opened it up, and there inside with the tamale was the 20 dollars. He glanced back at the van but the father just looked at him and shook his head. The traveler tried one more time to give it to him, because this man had not only stopped to helped him but had surely lost a day's wages to do so and then ended up having to spent his own money on a new jack. The man just said, with a lot of effort, "Today...you. Tomorrow...me."
There I go again, I'm totally crying. I love this story. These people were probably as poor as people can possibly get and yet they gave their time, their money, their hard work, their food and their love to a total stranger. Because they were humble and good. I believe in God. I believe that if these people keep going around being amazing like this, then yes...today that traveler but tomorrow...them. I learned from a kind Bishop of mine while I was a broke single mom that if I gave, I would actually receive and he was absolutely correct. Jesus knew what he was talking about, you will receive. This is the gospel and it works. Amen.
Amen? Ok sure why not...Amen.
In the first story, a farmer, we'll call him Dale, noticed an issue with his irrigation. The water began to wane in one area. So he checked it out and found that a neighbor, a fellow crop farmer, had dammed up the irrigation ditch and was usurping the water. So Dale took out a shovel and went with his boys to the area of the blockage and began to dig it out, so the water would return to his land. The man who had created the dam was so angry he actually took out an axe and went after Dale, who used his shovel to staunchly defend his right to the water. The altercation ended with incredibly bad feelings. The man who had dammed the water began to openly hate Dale's family. It came time to harvest. And Dale loaded up his kids in the truck to go to work harvesting his lands. But as he drove along, he took an unexpected turn into the other neighbor's property. The children thought he had lost his mind. But he explained that he had heard that the man was sick, too sick to harvest his own fruit, and he knew it had to be done immediately. So the man and his children, before even harvesting a single bit from their own farm, went and worked one full day for this man and placed the produce carefully at the back porch. One of the children remembered keeping one eye on their work, and one eye on the back door in case he came out with the axe again. The man was so grateful at the end of it all that he told Dale how sorry he was and at Dale's funeral years later he said how much of an example Dale had been and that he had become his best friend.
The second story was about a man who had a bad year of auto accidents, and to make matters worse, they kept happening in other people's cars. He knew he had a jack and a spare, etc. in his own car, but in other people's cars you are the mercy of their idea of preparedness and they seemed to always be lacking. So this particular year that he kept having issues he noticed that no one in America stops to help a fellow traveler in trouble anymore. Whether it's because we are all wary about safety or in too big of a hurry, whatever the reason, the only people that kept coming to his aid were immigrant workers. One time he was in a friend's Jeep and got a flat but didn't have the tools, only a spare. And again, no one would stop. So he put out a sign, NEED JACK, WILL PAY $$. Shortly after, a group of immigrant workers from Mexico stopped to help. It was a family. The father got out and came over with his English speaking daughter to help translate. They were here in America to pick produce for two weeks before returning home. So they got out their jack but the Jeep was too high and so they actually found some wood and cut it down to act as a brace for the jack. Now I personally have never heard of this but I guess he had a folding tire iron and the thing broke. The head came clean off. But the man explained to his wife in Spanish what he needed and sent her away in the van and she returned with a different iron and the men went back to work. It must have been something of a feat because to hear the way the speaker told it the men were muddy sweaty, smelly, messes by the end of it all. But the family had a jug of water and so the men were able to clean themselves up after and refresh themselves. The traveler tried to give this family money but the man wouldn't take it. So he went over to the mother and snuck a 20 dollar bill to her as quietly as he could. As he was getting back into his Jeep the daughter asked if the man had eaten yet. He said no, and was in fact starving after all of this time and effort. The girl handed out the window a tamale wrapped up in tin foil. The traveler took it back to his friend's Jeep and opened it up, and there inside with the tamale was the 20 dollars. He glanced back at the van but the father just looked at him and shook his head. The traveler tried one more time to give it to him, because this man had not only stopped to helped him but had surely lost a day's wages to do so and then ended up having to spent his own money on a new jack. The man just said, with a lot of effort, "Today...you. Tomorrow...me."
There I go again, I'm totally crying. I love this story. These people were probably as poor as people can possibly get and yet they gave their time, their money, their hard work, their food and their love to a total stranger. Because they were humble and good. I believe in God. I believe that if these people keep going around being amazing like this, then yes...today that traveler but tomorrow...them. I learned from a kind Bishop of mine while I was a broke single mom that if I gave, I would actually receive and he was absolutely correct. Jesus knew what he was talking about, you will receive. This is the gospel and it works. Amen.
Amen? Ok sure why not...Amen.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Judging Amy.
I am a judgmental person. Rather, I have become one. I have travelled so far in the polar opposite direction from the liberal way I was raised that I may in fact circle around a full 360 and find myself back in some free love, no rules, flexible morality kind of space, judging no one. I'm not sure, where I'm going is uncharted.
I was raised not to judge anyone. Which is good. I was raised that there was no right or wrong. Which is bad. I was also taught there was no good or bad which is also bad. According to my upbringing, using those kinds of words would be "labeling" and is a part of judging which is only for stupid and closed-minded people. Now, these free-thinking concepts are only effective things to tell yourself and others if what you are seeking is license to do whatever you want no matter what. Say, for example, you want to go out and sleep with a whole bunch of people. You do not want to suffer the consequences of this action, i.e. people thinking you are a horrible mother and a slut. Or even YOU thinking you are a horrible mother or a slut. You will then need to tell yourself that by sleeping with a whole bunch of people you were not doing anything "bad" or "wrong", you were in fact "learning about your sexuality" because human reproduction is healthy and good and it wasn't wrong of you, it was just a part of your journey and was essential to your learning process. Never mind all of the people that were hurt or how many families were destroyed as a consequence of these actions because if people think that what you are doing is bad, they are being "judgmental" and need to find your "positive intent".
Because I never judged people, especially those people in my own family, I allowed them to treat me horribly. I was told that I could control my reactions to everyone and everything around me. If someone acted horribly to me, instead of calling them out to change their behavior, I just needed to look at their "positive intent" and possibly also, go to my "great good place". Everyone's actions had a positive intent, we just had to look hard enough. Sometimes I had to look really, really hard. This meant I was asked to look at things one might realistically label as sad or bad and I was to tell myself they were not bad or sad but actually good and acceptable instead. If someone like my older sister took my head and slammed it into the bathtub tile surround for taking a bath when she wanted to, I only simply need go to my great good place in order to see her positive intent and I would no longer be angry and I would find love for her. I would close my eyes and soon I could imagine that her positive intent was to toughen up my head. Armed with this knowledge I no longer wanted my sister to die slowly at my own hand, but to keep on showing me the mysteries of her many complex actions. So now, because everyone in our family, nay the world, had a positive intent and no one was ever wrong or bad, no one ever need suffer any consequences or punishment for their actions. In our household especially, never at any time, no matter how bad the offense might possibly have been, was anyone actually ever punished. No one even brought up in casual conversation the amount of times I had my butt handed to me with a bow on it by my big sister. I guess her positive intent was for me to really become familiar with where my pain threshold is. If you're wondering, it's somewhere around my External Occipital Protuberance.
In regards to relationships it should come as no surprise to read that I did not employ any powers of perception whatsoever in choosing a mate. I met someone, I saw a whole handfull of positive intent in everything they did and so I loved them dearly for handing me my hindquarters. Wasn't that thoughtful of them? I was wondering where my hindquarters had gone. Oh? It's right there? Thank you. Thank you so much. I love you. Don't leave me.
Somewhere in the middle of a Christmas party in 2005 I came to my senses. Bio dad had left me the year before. He left me pregnant with no explanation. He had gone from, "I love you more than you will ever know and I want to be with the one I love forever" to "we only casually dated" to "I'm suing you for getting pregnant". He could only have handled the situation worse if he had shot the lot of us. After a year of hell for me and and a three day coma for him (long story) he came to his senses and wanted to apologize for how he handled things. And he wanted to re-handle those things. My things. After a year in the church and my full temple worthiness re-instated, it just wasn't happening. But we were maintaining a "friendship". So here is where we find ourselves and it's December. And he's going to a Christmas party and I've just been invited to the same one and isn't that a coinkiedink. And so I get spiffied up in a YSL knockoff black velvet suit, straighten my hair and show up. And it was like I walked into a Rock of Love audition. The girls...the girls. But I musn't judge, I tell myself. But are you serious, ladies? The lip liner...and the eyebrows... And then he shows up. And these girls squeal his name like it's 7th grade, and then tip toe trot themselves over to the man for optimal chest bounce-age and then rub their Spalding's up against his Lucky Brand button down. And it clicks for me. He is that guy. He is probably hiding a roll of fifty ones in his back pocket encircled with a red rubber band. He is "hangs with strippers" guy. If he had an indian name it would probably be "Hangs with Strippers". And I flash back in my head. Yep, all the signs were there. How did I miss them? Sure, he tried to be something he wasn't for my benefit. Sure he dressed differently for me and acted differently for me. But there is no way for someone to really hide their whole true self. Unless they're a serial killer. I had signs and red flags and towards the end there was even a huge bat signal or two. But now...now I was getting a hand typed, double spaced personalized letter reading, "Dear Amelia, I like slutty, ugly, tarty girls with big boobs who drink to excess and do things with guys they barely know." It was being tapped out on my head in Morse Code. "- - - . . . - - . . - - . . .- - . . .- . - . -. . -- ...-.......-- ..-" *
*He's that guy.
I had stepped over the line and I was now in judgmental country.
My first thought was, "You are that guy??" My second was, "How did you ever find ME attractive EVER if what you wanted all along is what she's got going on over there and up there and BACK THERE?!?" And my third one was, "I'm outtie." I left that party after having judged those girls and having judged my ex and having judged the situation and you know what? It felt great. And I've been doing it ever since. People sometimes ask me if having come from the kind of past I come from makes it easy to not judge people for their actions and I have to say the answer is no. You know those bitter, tight lipped angry women? You know how they all have a secret past and then become unmoving and rigid? It starts like this. I make judgment calls all day every day and you know what? I can't stop. The more I strive to live my life with standards the easier it is to see when people don't have any. And the easier it is to judge whether or not I want to have anything to do with those people. And I usually choose not to. Because they hurt you, those people. And it's safer to make the judgment call and protect yourself and your kids right from the git go. It's OK to judge what's bad and wrong. Sometimes people can be bad and wrong. Even if they may have a super-duper really great good positive intent.
"By their fruits you shall know them." Matthew 7:16.
I was raised not to judge anyone. Which is good. I was raised that there was no right or wrong. Which is bad. I was also taught there was no good or bad which is also bad. According to my upbringing, using those kinds of words would be "labeling" and is a part of judging which is only for stupid and closed-minded people. Now, these free-thinking concepts are only effective things to tell yourself and others if what you are seeking is license to do whatever you want no matter what. Say, for example, you want to go out and sleep with a whole bunch of people. You do not want to suffer the consequences of this action, i.e. people thinking you are a horrible mother and a slut. Or even YOU thinking you are a horrible mother or a slut. You will then need to tell yourself that by sleeping with a whole bunch of people you were not doing anything "bad" or "wrong", you were in fact "learning about your sexuality" because human reproduction is healthy and good and it wasn't wrong of you, it was just a part of your journey and was essential to your learning process. Never mind all of the people that were hurt or how many families were destroyed as a consequence of these actions because if people think that what you are doing is bad, they are being "judgmental" and need to find your "positive intent".
Because I never judged people, especially those people in my own family, I allowed them to treat me horribly. I was told that I could control my reactions to everyone and everything around me. If someone acted horribly to me, instead of calling them out to change their behavior, I just needed to look at their "positive intent" and possibly also, go to my "great good place". Everyone's actions had a positive intent, we just had to look hard enough. Sometimes I had to look really, really hard. This meant I was asked to look at things one might realistically label as sad or bad and I was to tell myself they were not bad or sad but actually good and acceptable instead. If someone like my older sister took my head and slammed it into the bathtub tile surround for taking a bath when she wanted to, I only simply need go to my great good place in order to see her positive intent and I would no longer be angry and I would find love for her. I would close my eyes and soon I could imagine that her positive intent was to toughen up my head. Armed with this knowledge I no longer wanted my sister to die slowly at my own hand, but to keep on showing me the mysteries of her many complex actions. So now, because everyone in our family, nay the world, had a positive intent and no one was ever wrong or bad, no one ever need suffer any consequences or punishment for their actions. In our household especially, never at any time, no matter how bad the offense might possibly have been, was anyone actually ever punished. No one even brought up in casual conversation the amount of times I had my butt handed to me with a bow on it by my big sister. I guess her positive intent was for me to really become familiar with where my pain threshold is. If you're wondering, it's somewhere around my External Occipital Protuberance.
In regards to relationships it should come as no surprise to read that I did not employ any powers of perception whatsoever in choosing a mate. I met someone, I saw a whole handfull of positive intent in everything they did and so I loved them dearly for handing me my hindquarters. Wasn't that thoughtful of them? I was wondering where my hindquarters had gone. Oh? It's right there? Thank you. Thank you so much. I love you. Don't leave me.
Somewhere in the middle of a Christmas party in 2005 I came to my senses. Bio dad had left me the year before. He left me pregnant with no explanation. He had gone from, "I love you more than you will ever know and I want to be with the one I love forever" to "we only casually dated" to "I'm suing you for getting pregnant". He could only have handled the situation worse if he had shot the lot of us. After a year of hell for me and and a three day coma for him (long story) he came to his senses and wanted to apologize for how he handled things. And he wanted to re-handle those things. My things. After a year in the church and my full temple worthiness re-instated, it just wasn't happening. But we were maintaining a "friendship". So here is where we find ourselves and it's December. And he's going to a Christmas party and I've just been invited to the same one and isn't that a coinkiedink. And so I get spiffied up in a YSL knockoff black velvet suit, straighten my hair and show up. And it was like I walked into a Rock of Love audition. The girls...the girls. But I musn't judge, I tell myself. But are you serious, ladies? The lip liner...and the eyebrows... And then he shows up. And these girls squeal his name like it's 7th grade, and then tip toe trot themselves over to the man for optimal chest bounce-age and then rub their Spalding's up against his Lucky Brand button down. And it clicks for me. He is that guy. He is probably hiding a roll of fifty ones in his back pocket encircled with a red rubber band. He is "hangs with strippers" guy. If he had an indian name it would probably be "Hangs with Strippers". And I flash back in my head. Yep, all the signs were there. How did I miss them? Sure, he tried to be something he wasn't for my benefit. Sure he dressed differently for me and acted differently for me. But there is no way for someone to really hide their whole true self. Unless they're a serial killer. I had signs and red flags and towards the end there was even a huge bat signal or two. But now...now I was getting a hand typed, double spaced personalized letter reading, "Dear Amelia, I like slutty, ugly, tarty girls with big boobs who drink to excess and do things with guys they barely know." It was being tapped out on my head in Morse Code. "- - - . . . - - . . - - . . .- - . . .- . - . -. . -- ...-.......-- ..-" *
*He's that guy.
I had stepped over the line and I was now in judgmental country.
My first thought was, "You are that guy??" My second was, "How did you ever find ME attractive EVER if what you wanted all along is what she's got going on over there and up there and BACK THERE?!?" And my third one was, "I'm outtie." I left that party after having judged those girls and having judged my ex and having judged the situation and you know what? It felt great. And I've been doing it ever since. People sometimes ask me if having come from the kind of past I come from makes it easy to not judge people for their actions and I have to say the answer is no. You know those bitter, tight lipped angry women? You know how they all have a secret past and then become unmoving and rigid? It starts like this. I make judgment calls all day every day and you know what? I can't stop. The more I strive to live my life with standards the easier it is to see when people don't have any. And the easier it is to judge whether or not I want to have anything to do with those people. And I usually choose not to. Because they hurt you, those people. And it's safer to make the judgment call and protect yourself and your kids right from the git go. It's OK to judge what's bad and wrong. Sometimes people can be bad and wrong. Even if they may have a super-duper really great good positive intent.
"By their fruits you shall know them." Matthew 7:16.
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