Rolling Stones

This morning in class, my teacher read something that Amy Carmichael had written. It was talking about how when the women went to Jesus' grave, the task of moving the stone away for themselves would have been very difficult, if not impossible. So God just stepped in and did that much for them. Isn't that amazing to think about? I can just picture those grieving women, grunting and groaning as they tried to roll away a vast and heavy stone, knowing that they were going to see something totally heartbreaking when the job was finally done...But then God just gave another bit of evidence about His grace. He didn't make those women roll away the stone, only to find the sepulchre empty. He did it for them. I think that there's another lesson in this. God doesn't make things any harder on His children than they have to be. He does exactly what needs to be done, and in His wisdom it's always right. As much as we like to lift our faces to the sky and moan "How long, dear Lord? How long will you make us suffer?" all of that angst isn't His will. We should know that just as God sent His angel to roll back the stone, He will never place a burden too great to bear upon our shoulders.

Give Me Your Hand if We Be Friends...

My friend Jessica kindly offered my sister and myself two free tickets to see the ballet, "A Midsummer's Night's Dream." I absolutely adore this play (gotta love good ole Bill Shakespeare) and add a ballet and Mendelssohn? You've got quite a powerful combination. So this afternoon, I gallantly gave up by Sunday afternoon nap and drove Shelby and I down to Beale Street to the Orpheum. Now, Memphis is famous for Beale Street, but I've only actually been there a handful of times, and I'd never driven there. Thankfully, we got there without much trouble and were briefly victims of extortion, which masqueraded as a parking fee. No matter how many times I go, I never get tired of the Orpheum. It's so beautiful-it's a tangible piece of the past that we can see and touch and experience. I always find myself wishing I could see it back in the old days, with all the people dressed in their finest and so excited. But I digress. We sat down in amazingly good seats (I could actually see, which is amazing, considering how bad my eyesight is) and the show began. The ballet was absolutely amazing-the sight took my breath away when the curtains first rolled back. There was this giant flower on stage, and fairies danced around it. Petals floated in the air, and the audience truly felt like they were in Fairyland. The choreography seemed a little odd in places-sometimes the arm movements looked like something out of "Thriller." However, Jessica and I sat on the edge of our seats, and I found that I remembered more than I thought from the old ballet days. We critiqued the costumes, the performances and thoroughly enjoyed ourselves. The guy that played Puck did an especially good job. The program said that he had been born and raised in the Bronx-I couldn't help but wonder what his friends thought when he started running off to ballet school every day to wear tights and jump around. But he undoubtedly made a fabulous Puck, very humorous. In any case, if you ever have the chance to see that ballet (or any ballet, for that matter) I highly recommend it. I don't understand why people think that ballet is boring-it's just as lovely and expressive an art form as movies and plays.

Cornballs

So, last night I went to our local Corn Maize with some of my buddies from school. I had been looking forward to it all week. For those of you who don't have a Corn Maize, our local agricultural research place grows a huge field of corn every year. Then, they make a maze out of the field in some sort of shape-last year, for instance, it was King Tut. Then they set out a sign, and presumably rake in thousands of bucks just by selling tickets and setting loose a bunch of people into a corn field to get lost. Whoever thought this up was a genius. However, as the year draws closer to Halloween, the brilliant people who run the corn maize pay a bunch of bored teenagers a certain fee to go out into the cold and mud, crawl around in the corn and mud, and scare a bunch of people senseless, usually 14 year old girls. They do this with "scary" masks, air horns, and the time-honored "BOO!" In any case, a group of us world-weary college students met up at the corn field, got tickets, and then went and got pizza, in order that we might stuff ourselves while waiting for it to get dark. After all, it's no fun to get lost in a haunted cornfield unless it's dark. Then we went back, put on warm hoodies, and went into the darkness. Stephen was our scout and Pathfinder, walking out ahead of the group. We let him-after all, the person who walks out first gets killed first, right? Next came the brave Jonathan, picker up of all deserted flashlights and myself, the Girl Who Was Only Startled Three Times. We were the ones that kept our ears carefully attuned for the presence of little girls-it's the most fun to walk just behind them and laugh when they get scared by that guy in the weird clown mask. Behind us came the gentle Rachel and the wise Evan, Seer of all horror movie questions. Last came Dee and her boyfriend, Tony/Troy. Don't ask how he got two names. In any case, we tried to deliberately get lost, because it's no fun unless you're in there for at least an hour. Even with answering all of the questions deliberately wrong, we were still in and out of the maze in thirty minutes, which was slightly disappointing. The highlight of expedition was undoubtedly when we encountered the funky chicken-I'm his biggest fan. Any dude that can put on a chicken suit and go wallowing through the corn and do this weird chicken cackle is well deserving of praise. We were all deeply saddened, however, when we couldn't track down the guy hanging from the gallows. Hang it all. After we got done with the corn maize, everyone came back to my abode, where my mother had kindly made hot caffeinated beverages, popcorn, and chocolate chip cookies. We then proceeded to watch a highly intellectual film *cough cough Spaceballs cough cough* and call it an evening. That, my friends, is a good time.

Simple Things

Here are some things I found myself appreciating at some point today: 1. Sleeping without having to wake up to an alarm clock. 2. Wearing socks all day and then taking them off and climbing into bed. 3. Knowing that tomorrow is Friday. 4. Looking forward to going to the Corn Maize. 5. Being able to talk to an old friend. 6. Reading Jon's poem-that just rocked. 7. Knowing that God works in mysterious ways-the one day I was going to have to miss class due to my back, the professor was sick. While I'm sorry about Dr. Browning being sick, I'm very glad that I didn't have to miss a class. 8. Watching Transformers. 9. Hearing my young piano student telling me that she wished every day was a piano lesson day. 10. Waking up to my dog all snuggled up against me. Take a moment, and try to figure out what you appreciate.

Funerary Arrangements

This honored website regrets to inform you all of the death of Katie's back. It was killed last night when she, in a fit of actually trying to take care of herself, decided to exercise. In the process of this highly noble ambition, she managed to throw it out somehow. The poor back has been buried in her bed, wrapped in the loving embrace of a heating pad. The rest of Katie's body mourns this honored and most beloved comrade, and her spine in particular just doesn't know how to stand up without it. All those who wish to honor Katie's back and the wonderful job it did during Life may either send flowers or leave an epitaph here. Farewell, beloved back. We will miss you always. Life is just a pain without you.

Ireland Blessing

I just wanted to share this, because it was so beautiful. I hope you all enjoy it! "May the blessing of the rain be on you—the soft sweet rain. May it fall upon your spiritso that all the little flowers may spring up, and shed their sweetness on the air. May the blessing of the great rains be on you, may they beat upon your spirit and wash it fair and clean, and leave there many a shining pool where the blue of heaven shines, and sometimes a star."

HELP!!!!!!

I am unashamedly asking for some help in this post, simply because I'm vastly interested in all of you fine people's opinions. In my social psychology class, we've somehow gotten onto the topic of suicide and sin. There are a few members of my class that staunchly believe that suicide is an unforgivable sin, and that you will get sent to hell for committing it. I've never held that opinion-I thought that the only unpardonable sin was the sin of omission, in other words, not asking God to enter your heart. But they say that it's unforgivable because you can't ask for forgiveness when you're dead, and that killing yourself is murder. I believe that the blood of Jesus covers all our sins-but does asking for the forgiveness of the sin make the difference? As you can tell, I'm really confused. I'd really appreciate y'all's thoughts on this. Thanks, and blessings!

Dona Nobis Pacem (so don't hit me, please)

It is my regret to inform you all that I think my foray into the Presbyterian Church is over. Before you get up in arms about this, let me explain myself. I have loved attending Riveroaks Reformed Presbyterian Church-the pastor is marvelous, the music gorgeous, and the people kind. However, I have several reasons for leaving the church. 1.) I miss worshiping with my family, particularly my mom. I miss singing with her, and learning with her. I miss singing Baptist hymns! I know, it's pathetic. But I worship through music, and having to sing unfamiliar songs over and over again left me cold. 2.) As much as I loved singing in the choir at Riveroaks, I was lonely. Nobody there was my age, and while I've always interacted better with adults rather than people my age, I got a little tired of sitting in the corner. I can imagine most of you staring at your screen in wonderment as you try to see me sitting quietly in a corner, but yes. I must assure you that it is true. 3.) To be honest, I think part of the reason I stopped going with my mom to church was that I was still dealing with the death of our former pastor. It's weird-I still miss him so much. It was a comfort to look up at the pulpit and know that the man standing there knew you, knew your problems, and loved you bunches. It was hard to see Bro. Sam, admirable as he is, in Bro. Davy's place. It won't be easy now, but I'm going to try and deal with it head on. Besides, I don't think I'll be "that weird homescooled girl" any longer. Ahh, college. The great equalizer. 4.) Finally, I must place a disclaimer with this last reason. I have no problem with people who believe in things other than me. I have no difficulty in accepting other people's points of view. But while Riveroaks was the closest thing to a Baptist church as you'll ever hope to find, I just couldn't condone some of their religious practices. While I have no problem with people that practice it, I simply don't believe in infant baptism, among other things. I just couldn't reconcile myself to that, no matter how hard I tried. Thanks, Mom, for passing on mule-headedness. Sigh. Well, I'd like to thank anyone that's been praying for me. These past few months have definitely been a growing time, as I've tried to figure out what I believe and why. I just hope now that I'm on the path that God wants me to be. Please keep me and my family in your prayers. Blessings!

????

Here's something that I've been pondering heavily for the last 24 hours....do Transformers ever run out of gas?
Just wondering.

The Way of the Sore Samurai

Well, folks, yesterday was an interesting day. I got up, very grumpy because I had to go to my first self-defense class. The idea of going to a class on Saturday morning was highly repugnant to me, and I complained about it with fervor. Still, there was no choice. I had to go. So I dressed in my "Don't talk to me when I'm talking to myself" t-shirt and headed down to the church where the class was being held. Thankfully, I didn't have to drive all the way down to Crichton. When I got there, I met up with my friend Rachel, and we headed into the class. To my great relief, all of the students were girls, while the class was being taught by three 50-year-old men who weren't terribly frightening, despite the black belts they wore that inspired a certain amount of awe. After giving out our contact information, our instructors proceeded to lead us in a series of stretches that I haven't done in years. Thankfully, a lot of them were the same as what I had done in ballet a few years ago, so I wasn't completely helpless. I was also pleased that despite my bodily changes since then, I could still bend and have some balance. The rest of the lesson was taken up in our instructors demonstrating how self-defense was important, and what to do in certain situations. They then showed us how to take our fighting stances, how to make a proper fist, and how to track your opponent. I even learned how to jab and punch! That part was lots of fun. Learning how not to break your hand when punching seem highly useful. However, after an hour and a half of this, I was really sore. The class is going to be fun, but I have a feeling that it's going to be taxing. But they say usually in every class they have someone that gets really caught up in it, and becomes a "killer." I have a strong suspicion that it just might be me. I've always wanted to earn a black belt in something, just for confidence and bragging rights, and to know that I will never be helpless. If this class continues to go well, I just might sign up for a class next spring. Can you imagine me with martial arts knowledge? Sweet. Anyway, I've got some other things to blog, but I think I'll let that wait until either tonight or tomorrow. Blessings, and don't get into fights that you can't win!

Mysterious Disappearance, Read All About It! Girl Lost Valued Treasure!

Attention: This post should be read in the attitude of those old black and white detective stories. It is supposed to be melodramatic. Thank you. Once upon a midnight dreary, as I pondered weak and weary, a young girl was at school. All was well, another class conquered with no danger to its students, when the girl went outside to her vehicle, in order to get home. Her silk garments swaying in the wind, she climbed into her flashy car, fully intent on enjoying her drive home with loud music, fast speeds, and a lowered window. Imagine her surprise, therefore, when she reached into her backpack and discovered that she had no ipod! (Cue music) Duh duh duhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Frantic, the woman cried, "Oh, help! I've lost my ipod! That's three hundred dollars, gone with the wind! Please help!" Several people jumped immediately to her aid-her brave brother, the noble Evan; the ever sarcastic yet helpful Steven; her kind female cohorts, Jessica, Rachel, and Julianne. Everyone rushed to help our heroine in her plight, but alas and alack. The ipod was not to be found. The young girl walked around her school for an hour, searching classrooms and asking questions of those in authority. Finally, footsore and with a heavy heart, she went to her car. She was certain that her precious music player had been stolen, and was even then being sold at a pawn shop. Someone else would enjoy her Linkin Park, her Goo Goo Dolls, her Rascal Flatts! It was too much to bear. Casting her eyes to the ground in misery, she stops! She stoops, and bring her hand up to the light. There, within the grasp of her fingers, was her ipod! It had fallen out when she had exited her vehicle, and its dark color had caused it to blend in with the pavement. Rejoicing that it had neither been run over or picked up by some miscreant, the girl went on her way, determined to make sure that the horrid incident never happened again. The End.

Provoke Not A Dedicated CSI Fan to Wrath, For You Are Crunchy and Good With Ketchup

If you ever want to laugh so hard you're about to puke, recreate the events I'm about to describe to you. My family, having a rare family moment, was watching CSI together. Grissom had proposed to Sara, she had said yes, all was going well with our world....until....the dumb weather channel broke in when it was THREE FREAKING MINUTES away from being done. Needless to say, much angst, shouting, and cursing of all meteorologists went on, while my mother, the brave little retailer, burst into the action. Grabbing the telephone, she proceeded to have a reasonable facsimile of this conversation: "News Channel 3, how may we help you?" "Could you not wait three minutes until CSI was over to break in? Why did you do that? It wasn't necessary!" "Ma'am, calm down. There was a tornado warning for Mississippi." "Well, guess what-I don't live in Mississippi!" "It's not all about you, ma'am." "Well, I want to know when you're going to be replaying that episode! That was just rude!" "Good night." "Is it?" Both parties hang up. My mother rocks, end of story. At this very moment, she's e-mailing a furious diatribe to the forenamed station's e-mail address, and talking with her friends in a furious tone of voice. Ah. I needed a laugh. Blessings, and don't drink contaminated water! You'll end up like Grissom's carp!

God Power

Self-help. Self-esteem. Self-pity. Self-absorbed. Selfish. Self-worth. Our culture is hopelessly mired in the self, in the me me me. Yet, often a lot of us have a self-esteem roughly equivalent to that of a goldfish. A lot of people only see their flaws, and continually wish to be something more, something special, something distinct from the rest of the world. "If only I were prettier." "If only I were smarter." "If only I were thinner..." The list is endless. Girls especially are prone to the trap of demeaning themselves. So we listen to inspiring "girl power" music, we look for ways to make ourselves more beautiful, and we tell ourselves repeatedly that it doesn't matter how other people see us. It matters how we see ourselves. Be true to yourself. Everyone is beautiful in their own ways. But eventually, even that healthy image falls short of our own expectations. Where does the cycle end? Usually in depression, despair, and failed goals and dreams. I'm not unique in this; I suffer from probably the lowest self-esteem yet seen on the planet since Leah had to use her son in order to hang out with Jacob-she only had pretty eyes. Yet, after a visit with one of my good friends, I'm left pondering this whole business of how we as humans view ourselves. I know that I long for people to look past my appearance and see who I truly am-I'm someone who's just trying to be the best handmaiden for God that I can. Being a handmaiden is important to me-almost all of the women in the Bible I admire called themselves handmaidens. Hannah, Mary, Elizabeth....so many special women that were willing to serve God without shame, no matter what the cost. I know that I want people to view me positively-instead of being that girl with some extra poundage and pimples, I want to be the girl that loves to write, and loves her family and friends without hesitation. But see-even that desire isn't important. Because here's the rub: God made me acne prone. God didn't make me to be Liv Tyler. He made me to be me, and only me, and unashamedly me. So self-esteem shouldn't really matter that much. As long as I try to be the woman God made me, how I view myself isn't really important. How He views me is. As one of my favorite comedians says, "When the creator of matter says that you matter, then you will have self-esteem." Stop viewing yourself through the world's eyes, and try to see yourself as God sees you. Yes, you have flaws. Yes, you still have work to do. But it's a long journey, and it's not over. God isn't done with you yet, and He isn't going to desert you. So throw away that self-help book, and try to remember that when you're bemoaning those extra pounds, that God loves you no matter how you look or feel. It's your actions that truly count.

BTW.....

This pretty much describes my mood today. Click the link, and then click the nose. Oh, and those with seizure conditions probably should forego this. Thank you. http://people.ambrosiasw.com/~andrew/funny/piggy.swf

Coroner's Report: Revised

We, the people of Tennessee, are completely befuddled to have to report a strange occurrence for which there was no warning. Something has taken place that has never yet happened before, in this world, or even a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away. Somehow during his long sojourn in Purgatory, Dr. Wiggles managed to wander away from his divine guide, Virgil, while Virgil was discussing the depths of human reason with Bono and Paris Hilton. Using only sheer very dumb luck, Dr. Wiggles blundered back into the human realm and arrived to torment his classroom once again. However, he had new tools this time. Not only did he continue his useful curriculum of long silences and enough mispronounced words to cause a red pen to bleed to death, but he gleefully handed out grades on papers that he hadn’t read, praised the stupidest person in the classroom, and made very intelligent people feel as if they had had concrete poured in their ears. The students tried everything to keep their sanity intact, but alas, the usual weapons were powerless. Not even humming the Sesame Street theme could save them, and they have been left rubbing their eyes in compulsive movements in an attempt to ward off sleep and muttering mysterious platitudes under their breaths. Being horrified at the idea of such an abomination to the entire human race, a man that can only be described as a pestilential zombie, being in their midst, the people of this honored office have decided to take decisive action. They have therefore hired someone to find Dr. Wiggles, and gently place him in a cozy white coat, after which he will be escorted back to Virgil's loving care. The success of this venture remains to be seen, but the public is respectfully requested to pray for that brave individual tonight. Perhaps, if enough people bring this situation to the ear of God, the situation may yet be resolved.

The Eagles Are Coming!

So, that image of the hawk a few days ago wouldn't leave me be, and of course my cursed poetic mind has to toy with it. So here's the result of a few days of pondering-it's not very good, but oh well. I'm not thinking very creatively today-all of my creative juices have been sucked away by having to write in the APA format. Please, someone, tell me why a format that was developed by PSYCHOLOGISTS sound like it was written by a bunch of OCD people suffering from delusions of grandeur? Isn't it counter-productive to drive your psychology students crazy? But I digress. Here's the poem, don't tear it to shreds too much, please. Love to you all, and blessings!
Yesterday I saw a hawk
Flying, soaring up in the sky
Black feathers against clearest blue
For some reason it caught my eye

It held its wings out, straight and true
Never once flapping or fighting
It went where’re the wind sent it
The lord of the sky, submitting

At that I thought to myself,
“That’s how I should be in life
Allowing God to lead me, send me
Without giving Him any strife.”

With my face to the wind
I will soar and will fly
I will go wherever He wills,
Even when I don’t know why

I must give up my will
And allow him to guide me
If the Lord of Hosts sends,
I’m where I need to be.

Who am I to plead and argue
Against His divine plan?
I will go where He wills
With my face to the wind.

Insignificance

So, I've joined the choir at the church I'm currently attending, Riveroaks Reformed Presbyterian. I want it made clear that I still consider myself a Baptist at heart-I just like the worship style better at this church. I'm enjoying singing with the choir, but God is teaching me humility through it. For example, at HiS choir, you could have called me the first chair alto. I was the unofficial leader, and I enjoyed the role. It was easy for me-all I had to do was a little sight-reading and sing really loudly, and my place was secure. Not so with this choir. Most of the people in there are in their fifties, and they've been singing in church choirs all their lives. They can all sight-read really well, and they can all singing beautifully. Not only do I not have to carry the section, but I'm having to work really hard to keep up. Sometimes I feel like a magpie in their company, they're all so much better than me. I bring my music home every week, and I attempt to practice a couple times a week, if not every day. I can say that my sight-reading has gotten exponentially better, but a new curve ball got thrown at me yesterday. Yes, my friends, the ultimate. I have to sing in Latin. I've only sung in Latin one before, and then it was only one phrase, "Dona Nobis Pacem." Fairly simply and straightforward, right? Right. However, this piece "O Magnum Mysterium" is full of hard words and never stops changing. Nothing is pronounced the way is looks-for example, "magnum" is pronounced something like "manyum." Ugh. Anyway, I do encourage all of you to upgrade whenever you get too comfortable with where you are-I'm learning that I'm not nearly as good as I thought as I was, but I'm also learning how to get better. God works in everything. I may update again tonight.....Blessings!

The Big Bang in Action

Hello, all! I apologize for making y'all wait for this update. I just KNOW that you've all been salivating over your computer desks, wondering when I was going to write again! Seriously, I won't fool myself, but I do appreciate all of you for reading my aimless wonderings. Especial thanks go out to Bobby for explaining the HALO connection on my last post-props! In any case, the reason I haven't written in two days has been because my house has been overturned. I will now ask any science people *cough cough Shelby cough cough* to hold back their laughter for a few minutes as I explain the meaning of my title. From my limited understanding of science, the Big Bang theory is based on the idea that the universe was a small collection of various particles that somehow (magically, no doubt) burst out and exploded, creating the universe as we now know it. That metaphor is perfect for describing the past few days here. It all began with a simple purchase-I was able to buy a baby grand piano for $2500, which, for those of you who don't know, is a steal roughly comparable to Al Capone's greatest feats, or whoever that dude was that fell out of an airplane and disappeared after robbing a bank. My mother and sister (and my sister's boyfriend) were all thrilled that I had the opportunity to buy this said piano-until they realized that we really didn't have a place for it in the house. I suggested doing a small amount of rearranging to accommodate the piano. Yes, for those of you who have experience in these matters, I'm sure that you've already spotted the dilemma that lurks around the corner. You see, it simply CANNOT be that simple, especially in my household! My mother, seizing the opportunity, decided that of course, we simply must repaint both the dining room and the office/library/art studio, and rearrange everything. Thus, the example of the Big Bang-a simple purchase that exploded into a massive reorganization and redecoration. Growl. So the past two days of my life have been sucked into a gallon of yellow paint. The entire downstairs of my house was taken over, and eventually the three of us got frustrated enough to paint one of the rooms while Mom was gone, just so we could get finished. Mom was thrilled, of course, at this example of Triplet Power. Everything is done now, and if I may so say, it looks really nice. However, I did want a written record that NONE OF THIS WAS MY IDEA. I just wanted a new piano. And now fall break is over, and I have to return to school tomorrow and face down the horrors of Dr. Wiggles once again...I can barely stomach the idea. However, I think we only have something like six weeks left, so we're heading downhill. Just got to get through this last little bit without murdering Dr. Wiggles, which is going to require the prayers of all the saints combined (just kidding)to accomplish....Anyway, I wish you all very nice weeks, and I shall return to you tomorrow! Blessings!

Welcome to Randomville

Howdy, folks! This is gonna be another one of my "random things I'm thinking about" posts, so hang on for the ride. First of the things that I'm currently pondering over is whether the fact that I've named my new car is pathetic or not. My excitement over it is highly excusable-after being forced to drive the USS POS for a year or so, I was finally able to buy a 1997 Ford Escort, a beautiful shade of green. It has mirrors, a roomy trunk, and CUP HOLDERS!!!!!!! Anyway, due to my complete and total obsession with Ireland, I've decided to name it "Orran", which is the Gaelic word for green. I found it appropriate, but is it pathetic? Next, I keep thinking about something I saw the other day as I was driving home. It was a bird, possibly a hawk, and it was really high up in the air. The thing that hit me about this, is the fact that it just had its wings spread out. It never flapped its wings, or attempted to go anywhere specific. It just allowed the wind to take it where it would, and just followed its directions. What a great parallel for what our lives should be, I thought. We should allow God to take us wherever He wants to, without us fighting against His will. Even when we have no clue what the ultimate end to our journey is, its best to try and trust God. Easier said than done, I know. I, personally, would like to know where the end will be. But as a character said in one of my favorites movies *cough cough the 2nd Mummy movie cough cough* "Only the journey is written, not the destination. Finally, I find myself wondering what's so darn attractive about the HALO games that causes boys to get sucked in????? And why did they make Lex Luther so darn likeable in "Smallville" when they're just gonna make him evil? That seems so mean to me. And why does Jorja Fox have to leave CSI, when it's doing so well??? You will now be returned to your usual programing, devoid of my aimless wonderings. Blessings!

Contentedly Ever After

Once upon a time, in a modernish land, there lived a girl who was ordinary. No, she wasn't beautiful in a breathtaking way, nor was she horridly ugly. She wasn't hard on the eyes, that's about it. Anyway, this girl lived with her family, a rather nice bunch if occasionally odd at moments, which she actually appreciated, being that she was rather odd sometimes herself. One day, company was expected in that ordinary home, and the girl agreed to do some housework for her family. First, she baked two chocolate chip pies, the finest desert in the land, if she did say so herself. Then, she slaved for several hours, doing four loads of laundry, sweeping the entire house, scrubbing the kitchen floor, organizing her vast amount of music, and cleaning out her curio cabinet among other various chores, besides teaching four piano lessons. By this point the girl, who was heartily annoyed at the coming company despite the now clean house, threw looking nice to the wind and stuck her hair up in a ponytail. Despite all of your hopes for the appearance of some corpulent Mrs. Clause who made everything better, it was not to be. No such help arrived from any quarter, which was all right, the girl supposed. She'd never thought highly of the Prince Charming ideal-any guy that fell in love with a girl and then carried her shoe around in his pocket until he found her again is slightly creepy. Not exactly a locket, you know what I'm saying? In any case, the girl didn't find her Prince Charming, but she did find new heart and started looking once again for the ordinary, yet astonishing, man that was sure to be easier to deal with, rather than pampered princes that were too rich for their own good. Who would want to marry someone that had to worry about famines and plagues and all sorts of annoyances like that, rather than marry someone of lower birth and discuss books and movies? And so she found her hunky carpenter who did some writing on the side, and they walked blissfully into the sunset. Don't you just love happy endings?

What Would You Do?

I realize that I've already posted today....frankly, I'm starting to wonder if anybody's reading this. That doesn't matter, per se, but I'm going to post twice day because I'm in a really contemplative mood. My brother and I were watching a Smallville episode (no jokes, please) and it really got me thinking. In it, Clark is helping a younger friend of his who has a brain tumor. Despite everyone's best efforts, including some super stuff on Clark's part, the boy is going to die. He tells Clark that he always wanted to be like this comic figure, that gets to fly. He says that he would love to fly up high, where his problems would look small and insignificant. That got me to thinking...I've thought this before, simply because I'm occasionally a morbid person. But the thought hasn't struck me in a long time. What would I do, if I knew that I only had a few days left to be on this earth? I like to think that death wouldn't hold much fear for me. I know where I'm going, I've known since I was five years old when I accepted Jesus into my heart-on a dare from my older brother, but that's another story. I only doubted my salvation once in my life, when I was going through what I now know to call "the dark night of the soul." Since that time, I've never once doubted the existence of God, or the certainty in the fact that I'm going to be with Him one day. So, obviously, death doesn't really bother me. But the thought of leaving everything that I know behind does. Unless you're an idiot, you know that the most important thing (outside of religion) in the world to me is my family. As I've gotten older, I've realized more and more how deep my love is for my family, especially for my brother and my sister. It helps that we're triplets, but I know that I would lay down my life for them without hesitation. The thought of one of us not being around one day is absolutely terrifying to me. The thought of celebrating a birthday without three birthday cakes is horrendous. So I know that if I were going to be leaving this earth, I would want to be spending most of that time with my family. You know, I used to think that if I knew I was going to die, I would want to go to Ireland. It's been a lifelong dream of mine, to go there. In a romantic and completely unrealistic way, I feel like in Ireland a small piece of fairy tales still live. A tiny piece of life and magic is tucked away, just waiting to be touched and felt. I still hold that same dream, but now I don't think that's what I'd want to do. One of my most vivid memories is a time not long after my dad left. We were spending a lot of time out at my grandparents' house then. It was out in the country, by a lake, and it was quiet and peaceful, a refuge from all of the stuff that was happening in my life. One day, though, I just got overwhelmed. I missed having a daddy, I missed the security of my life, I missed knowing that everything was going to be all right. I was tired of watching my mom cry. I went outside and sat under a tree at my grandparents' house, and I sat there for hours and hours, just listening and praying. And I have never felt God's presence so close in my life, except for perhaps one time when Dr. Chaney was praying with me. The wind was soft, and it almost seemed to be whispering in my ear. I could feel God telling me that everything was going to be all right, that one day I would understand why all of this was happening and that He would take care of me and my family. It was peaceful, and serene. I think now that if I was going to die, I would have to go back out there, and sit back under that tree, at least for a while by myself. I think that I would pray, and talk with God, and remember all of the things that I had never dealt with and all of the things that are special and precious to me. Gosh, I'm crying while I'm writing this....so weird! I know that y'all are probably getting incredibly frustrated with this highly emotional post, but the thought just wouldn't leave me. You know, it never hurts to think about the future, even if it's as far in the future as death. We never know when it will come...like the poor boy from U of M found out on Sunday night. I know where I'll be going...and I just hope and pray that I'll be ready, especially for when the gray rain curtain of this world rolls away, and all turns to silver glass. I want to see the white shores, and beyond, a far green country under a swift sunrise, with the sound of singing coming over the water. I promise after this I'll be a little lighter, but I just couldn't get this out of my thoughts. Take the time to stop, and think about those you love the most. I promise, you won't be sorry for taking the time to do it.

True Confessions of a Car Buyer

Here are ten things I learned today about buying a car and life in general. 1. Always take your mother with you whenever you buy a car, especially if she's Jewish. The old mother factor can do wonders, especially when they point their fingers at the naughty car salesman. 2. If you have done number 1, next you need to remember to bring a camera, both to record your new car and to snap some pictures of the salesman's stunned face when your mom totally pwns him out of some money. My mother today got the salesman to come down four hundred dollars, as well as him replacing the brakes and detailing the car. He practically offered her a job-that must be some sort of a distinction. 3. Never expect to actually buy the car that you've come to see. I learned that lesson today when I went to the dealership fully expecting to buy a 1996 Pontiac Firebird, and ended up buying a 1997 Ford Escort. 4. Always ask what else the salesman has in the same price range. I would never have seen my lovely green car if I'd simply left it at losing the Firebird. 5. Never feel ashamed to casually mention anything to the salesman that might bring you sympathy. A recent divorce, a child with cancer, possibly six weeks to live...all of these are quite effective at getting the salesman to come down in price. I know-I have no shame. 6. It's never a bad thing to get the mechanic to check the car out first, even though it seems like a hassle. There were a couple things wrong with my future car that I would have never known, and that we got to use as bargaining chips. 7. The sight of cold, hard cash does wonders for melting the heart of the typical greasy and calculator-bearing salesman. 8. Make sure that your hand is rested up before you go buy, because they make you sign a million pieces of paper. If I didn't know my name before, I sure do now. 8. Nothing smells as nice as new car smell. Nothing. 9. Never feel bad about wanting something "girly". It doesn't have to be a bad thing. 10. Never, ever think that the listed price is what you're going to pay. They always hide some kind of fee in there somewhere. Ok, I think that's it.

I couldn't resist...

Despite the fact that today is the pseudo-Sabbath, I couldn't resist sharing some of these. Please enjoy! "Yo mama is so fat that when she fell in the ocean, whales jumped out and started singing 'We are family...'" "Yo mama so fat when her beeper goes off, people thought she was backing up." "Yo mama so fat people jog around her for exercise." "Yo mama so fat she had to go to Sea World to get baptized." "Yo mama so stupid it took her 2 hours to watch 60 minutes." "Yo mama so stupid that she tried to put M&M's in alphabetical order!" "Yo mama so stupid that she sold the car for gas money." "Yo mama so stupid when she read on her job application to not write below the dotted line she put "O.K." "Yo mama so lazy that she came in last place in a recent snail marathon." "Yo mama so old I told her to act her own age, and she died." "Yo mama so old she knew Burger King while he was still a prince." "Yo mama so old she was a waitress at the Last Supper." Ok, I'll be good now. After this post, I'll return you all to your normal sarcastic and mid-intelligent posts. My brain's just fried from Dr. Holler's test, curse him! :D Blessings!

Tell me, why'd you have to go and make things so complicated?

OK, so I'm gonna give a brief spiel on my view of a tough subject, and then I'll release you all back into the wild with no harm done to your psyches, I promise. This subject is something that I've given a fair amount of thought about, so read carefully, please. Why the heck do people have to be so darn serious when it comes to movies? Yes, we all enjoy the deeply analytical films, where we can observes the motifs and characterizations in order to define the deeper meaning within the story. But does that take away from the enjoyment of sheer popcorn movies? Certainly not! Although while not being works of any great philosophy, I have come here today to tell you all that I think the two Fantastic Four movies completely rock. There's nothing more enjoyable than watching a bunch of geeky scientists kick butt and take names, including the name of some general who thinks he's all that. I giggled so hard when Reed totally put General Hager in his place by saying, "No, I didn't play football. I stayed in there like the good little nerd. And now, fifteen years later, I'm one of the greatest minds of the century and I'm engaged to the hottest woman on the planet. Oh, and the guy who was quarterback in high school is now asking for my help." Rock on! These heroes aren't angst ridden, either, like a lot of the "heroes" that we have been forced to watch lately. (Come on, you can't tell me that Wolverine isn't as annoying to you as he is to me sometimes.) In these movies, you don't have to suffer through any "I'm-16-and-I-hate-my-father" syndromes, or "Isn't my life crappy, I think I'm gonna go blow some stuff up to make myself feel better" diseases. And there are certainly no "I need to avenge the death of some member of my family that I never really appreciated in life, so now I feel guilty" complexes! Instead, the audience is presented with four people who really don't have any hidden agendas: Reed Richards, Sue Storm, Johnny Storm, and Ben Grimm, the first two being scientists and the last two being pilots that have flown for freaking Nasa! They all get zapped in some completely whacked out space storm, and get awesome powers that they have to figure out how to use (with hilarious results). To defeat the super villains in these movies, though, the team has to use more than just laser vision and pummeling their collective way through walls. No, these guys are actually, gasp! Smart! They represent all nerds everywhere, a group that I am proud to be apart of. I understand that y'all really don't want to read a movie review, but I just felt like venting some spleen on the pseudo-intellectuals that put this move down because it's trite or stupid. Don't underestimate the power of 90 minutes of sheer fun, hilarity, and yes, relaxation. Push in the dvd player, grab the sour patch kids and just enjoy the ride without all of the forehead-puckering mannerisms that generally accompany trying to understand what that particular tree represents to the mind of the director.

I'd Rather Be...

Ok, so this is where I want to live, just so you know. It's Rivendell, and I had trouble getting the picture formatted correctly, so sorry about that. Good-night!

Where No Man Has Gone Before....at least none that I want to know...

Captain's log, Stardate 10052007. Today the USS POS, my own personal intergalactic investigative vehicle, went into the unknown world of the 21st century mall. I was accompanied by my faithful and much appreciated first officer, Commander Rachel. We made contact successfully with the local natives on the Planet Wolfchase, and then continued forth on our urgently important mission on that strange world. I noted that instead of there being a common or traditional pattern of dress and attitude, the planet's young acted and looked as different from one another as a Vulcan and a Klingon. Still and all, the Commander and I decided to follow a native custom, in the hopes of maintaining a good relationship with that strange culture. So we went to the popular teen hangout, called "Claire's" where we underwent the slightly painful ritual of having earrings put into our earlobes. It was a strange effect, but undeniably appealing. Feeling thus fortified for any occurrence that might come our way, we ventured back out into the strange Planet Wolfchase and traveled around its entire circumference, taking in the sights and trying on native garments. We were even two of the first people to visit the unexplored region call "Sephora." Eventually, after the captain had spent her entire allowance for the month on strange and beautiful artifacts, the Commander and I reboarded the USS POS and continued on our way, back into the Great Unknown, with a successful mission safely under our belts. Due to her excellent performance on this mission, I now wish to promote Commander Rachel to the rank of Captain, as I am taking the rank of Admiral and will be leaving the USS POS behind, in order to become the admiral of the much newer and undoubtedly better space vehicle, the USS Firebird. Much better name, too. Live long and prosper!

I'm too tired to think up a title, so imagine something brilliant, please.

I feel like I'm failing you guys right now. I should be writing something brilliantly funny or deep and contemplative. But I'm afraid that I'm just not in a "captivating" sort of mood. I'm tired.....I'm just really ready for a chance to get some sleep. I'm also unbelievably depressed that as much as I love school, I don't really love it very much at the moment. And I despise complaining, so I'm going to quit writing right now. I would hate for this to become one of those "oh woe is me, let me vent all about my crappy life that really isn't that crappy so that I can sound all emo" blogs. I promise, I'll post something much happier tomorrow. Until then, blessings.

Coroner's Report

Disclaimer: The following message is written entirely as a satire-meaning that it's merely sarcastic. The author wishes to assure her audience that she does not actively bear ill will towards the following individual. Thank you. We, the people of Tennessee, are sad to report the tragic and entirely deserved death of one Dr. Wiggles. The said doctor, being a professor, died of completely unnatural causes this evening while sitting in his office tweedling his thumbs and making up new ways to torture his students. Apparently, nursery rhyme ideas, long silences, and accusations of cheating weren't quite doing enough for him. It is the belief of this office that a disgruntled student, who remains unidentified, walked into Dr. Wiggle's office and made him watch fourteen straight hours of "Mr. Roger's Neighborhood" before slipping cyanide into his coffee. It is believed that Dr. Wiggles is now being guided by Virgil into Purgatory to a specially designated place, where he will learn how to properly pronounce "Dante" and "Evan" before he is allowed to pass into Bliss. If anyone has any information regarding the identity of his attacker, they are asked to come forward. The other students in Dr. Wiggle's class wish to offer him/her a reward.

Happy endings and such.

I'm utterly fascinated with fairy tales and wonder stories. The thing about stories is that they all show that within every person is the possibility of great things. It's the hope of being special, of being magic and beyond ordinary. Fairy tales teach that inside that quiet village maid is a cunning lady more than a match for a wily dragon, or that mischievous boy is capable of commanding a nation. We were all created with God's intended purpose for our lives, and we are all capable of doing extraordinary things. You don't have to become President or be the next JK Rowling, though. They may be quiet things, like raising a family or writing poetry. Still, if you perform your purpose to the glory of God, then you will have become magic and the stuff of fairy tales. I don't want that much out of life; I want a home, a family, a husband. I want to write books and go to church and sing. Sure, I dream of dragons and wizards and going to Rivendell, but in the end, that's not really important. Having a home of my own would be far better than going to Hogwarts. Therefore, I invite you all to begin your own transformations into the wonderful people God truly intends you to be.

So.....stupid.

Hello, all! I"m currently sitting in the library at school, waiting for two of my pals to bring me back a sausage biscuit from McDonald's. Yes, my friends, I have sunk to a whole new low. You know it's bad when I succumb to the horrors of "Micky D's." I'm also struck by the fact that life isn't fair. How isn't it fair, you ask? Well, 1.) both of my shows, CSI and Supernatural, both come on Thursdays at 8, which means it's one or the other, 2.) my mother hates Supernatural, so it's always going to be CSI and 3.) I can't be home anyway, because Thursday nights are RUF nights. Yes, the chips fall like that. Oh, and my sister's currently stealing all of my change so that she can make copies of something, I know not what. However, life dos have a few small favors. The reason I'm currently sitting in the library is because I'm unashamedly skipping chapel. I'm a heathen-let the pagan rituals begin! :D Now I'm going to finish up, firstly because this is completely random and secondly because my brother is staring over my shoulder. Blessings!

The Grand and Glorious Beginning

Hello, folks! Welcome to my blog! Due to the fact that I could never figure out how re-access it, I had to destroy my old blog. I decided that my sarcasm continually spills over its bounds, and I needed a place to store the excess. Hence, a blog! I can't promies that it'll be exciting or extraordinary, but you can expect brutal honesty and (hopefully) good morals amongst the rantings and dreamings. Not to mention the occasional literary work, which I hope you'll all help me with. Please leave me comments, and we'll start on this journey together!