Why the Disclaimer?

Running on the treadmill this morning, I set my iPod to play, assuming it would embark, on my behalf, on a journey through the bizarre troves of my music. I get bored with predictability, so the shuffle option is my favorite.

My iPod started playing the A's. Oh well.

Too lazy to hit "Menu" in order to select the shuffle feature, I listened through Anna Nalick's cd, one I had to put on the back-burner for a while because it was starting to get old hat. When it got to a song called, "Consider This," my posture straightened and a smirk crept over my face. There's a little angry chick inside me that loves the snide, I-told-you-so type songs--a disclaimer, warning someone against the relational danger that is me. Anna was singing my tune...

And dreaming doesn't do no good
Cause I don't wanna lie
That I'm okay and I'm alright
I'd rather take it and forget it
Consider this a warning
Cause I'll start another fight
And you'll say its all alright
I'll wait for the day when you find I'm too much for you, baby
So lay your hands over me
And feel what you only see
But don't bother wasting your time if you're trying to change me

This isn't the only song of its kind that rolls through my brain every now and again. The Dixie Chicks put it this way:

Don't waste your heart on a wild thing
She's got a soul that won't settle on one thing
Oh this bird can't sing when you've tied its wings
Don't waste your heart on me.

I don't understand why I want to connect to these themes--do I seriously undervalue myself like this? I think it's a sort of false humility that aims at belittling my personal qualities in order to avoid coming across as prideful. I think it's pretty stupid. I would hope that in any relationship, I would present my best, most caring self--never manipulating, isolating, or sabotaging. And I'm really not like that with my girlfriends, so I don't know why I have this romanticized pessimism when it comes to dating. I used to think that I'd be the perfect girlfriend, wife, mother. After all, I had the perfect training throughout childhood. Now, my ever-peeking inner drama-queen clings to the opposite extreme. If I'm not lamenting my potential to botch what might be a good thing, I'm throwing myself an equally whiny pity party about something else.

***

As I review these words I've just written, wondering whether or not I should round out a triad of song examples, I think through my repertoire and only one other comes to mind. It's simple. Childlike. But it fits.

I've got the joy, joy, joy, joy down in my heart
(Where?)
Down in my heart.
(Where?)
Down in my heart.
I've got the joy, joy, joy, joy down in my heart
Down in my heart to stay.

In the News

Survey Says...

Motherhood sucks.

And my waist should be 23 inches.

Oh what a world, what a world...

Rather than melt into a damp pile of steamy nothing (except my black witch's hat), I try to think rationally about all the news happening around me. I'm surprised that I haven't received a call yet from my Aunt Joy in Texas, asking if my house is on fire. Usually she's the first to stress over my safety. If there's a mudslide down in Long Beach, I expect the phone to ring. An earthquake near Stanford? Perhaps an email. Though a little over-dramatic, it's comforting in its own way.

Today when I read that our local celebrity rehab clinic, Promises, has been evacuated due to the flames, I couldn't help but roll my eyes as I contemplated where all those poor, displaced coke addicts would go. Thank goodness that made the news. I found the other two, more solid articles on a website for a UK newspaper. It reminded me about a conversation I had with a friend last night about how we want to move abroad. Of course if I leave LA for London, I suppose I'll still have to deal with issues of isolation, anti-family sentiment, and the never-ending drive to be skinny. Surprise, surprise...there's no escapism in moving.

There's nothing quite like the pessimism of coming off a retreat. But, despite the tone of this post, I actually don't feel bad right now. It's easier to avoid the crash after a mountain top experience if you never actually went up there in the first place. And, even though I was technically at a higher altitude, being in Big Bear and all, the most glorious part of the weekend was just spending quality time with some girls I don't see as often as I'd like. A few profound moments of God-connection, some delightful arts and crafts, and four hours in front of the TV watching the SC game, and you've got the Sparknotes version of the Shoreline Women's Retreat. Most of what I have to say about it will stay in the pages of my personal journal, but I liked Chrissie's summation. And if I had to end this tirade on a profound statement of theme, I guess it would be that I am still (and probably always will be) learning how to balance my involvement in the world with my desire to escape it. And even though I get mad a lot about the way things are, at least I can rest in the steadfast nature of a Good, Good God.

What then are we to say about these things? If God is for us, who is against us? He who did not withhold his own Son, but gave him up for all of us, will he not with him also give us everything else?

Romans 8:31-32

The Problem with Definitions

Possibly the most politically incorrect song I've heard in a long time is "I Enjoy Being a Girl" from the Broadway musical Flower Drum Song. Here are the words, for your skimming convenience:

I'm a girl, and by me that's only great!
I am proud that my silhouette is curvy,
That I walk with a sweet and girlish gait
With my hips kind of swivelly and swervy.

I adore being dressed in something frilly
When my date comes to get me at my place.
Out I go with my Joe or John or Billy,
Like a filly who is ready for the race!

When I have a brand new hairdo
With my eyelashes all in curl,
I float as the clouds on air do,
I enjoy being a girl!

When men say I'm cute and funny
And my teeth aren't teeth, but pearl,
I just lap it up like honey
I enjoy being a girl!

I flip when a fellow sends me flowers,
I drool over dresses made of lace,
I talk on the telephone for hours
With a pound and a half of cream upon my face!

I'm strictly a female female
And my future I hope will be
In the home of a brave and free male
Who'll enjoy being a guy having a girl... like... me.

When men say I'm sweet as candy
As around in a dance we whirl,
It goes to my head like brandy,
I enjoy being a girl!

When someone with eyes that smoulder
Says he loves ev'ry silken curl
That falls on my iv'ry shoulder,
I enjoy being a girl!

When I hear the compliment'ry whistle
That greets my bikini by the sea,
I turn and I glower and I bristle,
But I happy to know the whistle's meant for me!

I'm strictly a female female
And my future I hope will be
In the home of a brave and free male
Who'll enjoy being a guy having a girl... like... me.

A) I have NEVER compared myself to a "filly" before a date.
B) I don't particularly like talking on the phone, nor do I ever put a pound and a half of anything on my face.
C) I'm pretty sure that whistling at a woman has not been appropriate for quite some time.
D) I'm going to run out of alphabet if I keep going like this.

All in all, the song is catchy, which is why I put it on my Big Bear mix to listen to on the way up to the women's retreat. (I tried to eliminate any songs that talked about boys or love per the insistence of a certain friend of mine.) I started listening to the mix this evening while I happened to be talking to someone about the difference between men and women. It's funny to me when a guy friend tries to tell me "women are like this..." I guess mostly it's funny because I do the same thing, trying to peg men as such or such...a bunch of stereotypes. I heard somewhere that stereotypes are upsetting because they are based on truth. I don't know. Anyway, I was amused. And as I listened carefully to the words, I started getting a little more pensive.

What is a woman, anyway?

(Answers to come later...or perhaps never..)

The Lonely Hearts Club

One of my dad's commonly reminisced memories from college is about the time when he and three of his best friends were all single. On Friday nights, when other people were out on dates, they got together to form a "Lonely Hearts Club," a bit of a play on words to describe not only their relational state of being, but also their activity and occasion for gathering: playing the card game, Hearts. I don't know why he always tells this story, which is really not much of a story, but a random factoid that he throws out whenever it seems to fit the conversation. If it were me, I would keep that info tucked away, an embarrassing moment in history that belongs in a textbook footnote. Alas, not my dad.

Trolling through sermons today, I came across a REALLY bad sermon illustration, a joke (Anecdote? Unclassifiable bit of speech?) about some poor schmuck getting rejected from his local Lonely Hearts Club with the line, "We're not that lonely." Reminded me of my dad...in both the mentioning of a Lonely Hearts Club and in it's being the kind of lame joke that I often give him a hard time for telling.

So when I say trolling, what I mean is that I did a sermon search on Crosswalk.com to see what any of the big whigs that get their sermons posted up there had to say about loneliness. The topic has been on my mind lately, and not really in the emo, I-want-a-boy kind of way, but just in the sense that I live my life without the presence of a day-to-day family to come home to. My dad keeps nudging me back towards songwriting, and one of the biggest themes that keeps coming up in my writing is how much it can suck to live in a city--where it's hard to consistently keep in touch with people.

Unfortunately, the sermon search is a total tease--they only give you the first 300ish characters, then you have to buy the manuscript. Lame. Despite only getting the intro to a whole bunch of sermons (including plenty of random statistics and several more bad jokes stolen and recycled by pastors I've never heard of), I came out with some interesting stuff.

First was a bit of encouragement quoted from Rudyard Kipling, who said, "The human soul is essentially a very lonely thing. We are born alone, die alone, and in the depths of our heart we live alone." Thanks, Rudy. How uplifting. I get a mental image of the old-school Brit with an emo comb-over. Moving on...

Anytime I start to feel alone, I try to remember that no matter what, God is with me. I like that. It's comforting to know that He loves me so personally that He will never leave me or forsake me. On those days, what I really want to do is curl away somewhere, Bible and journal in hand, and avoid the rest of the world for the rest of my time here. It reminds me that heaven will be so great because the only thing I'll do is be in constant fellowship with God. Me and Him. Connected. It makes me want to get there soon.

The next stop for my train of thought is on the truth in Scripture that God has purposed my life. If I were not called to live here among others for some reason or another, He would take me home already.

Hmm...how to be in the world, but not of it?

Especially since I distrust the credibility of these sermons, I didn't take much from what the pastors cut and pasted together, but I did pick up on some common scripture references and figured that if it's in the Bible, you can't really go wrong.

Usually they start in Genesis: the first case of loneliness happens early in the Bible, when God says, "it is not good for the man to be alone" (2:18). God's design was that we would be made in His image--in the image of the Trinity, that famous three-in-one conundrum. The Father, Son, and Holy Spirit enjoy perfect community at all times. So, I think, if I'm supposed to be made in the image of God, why is my community a 30 minute drive down the 10 Freeway? Survey says, the Fall. Who knew some hungry chick could cause us all these problems? God intended for Adam and Eve to experience the kind of relational joy that would reflect the nature of their Creator, but along the way, humankind got a little (understatement) out of whack.

Other points of interest I found woven into sermons were references to King David and King Solomon, both of which expressed the anguish of being alone and the great problem of it: "...but woe to the one who falls when there is not another to lift him up!" (see Ecc. 4:9-12). Fast forward a few years and we find Paul struggling with the same kinds of things. He ends up in prison, and people really start to bail on him. I thought I had it bad.

It didn't take too long, though, for me to get bored with my sermon search. I would have gladly traded in all of those openers for the last 300 characters of each sermon. Assuming each one fit the 3-point sermon system (and they all seemed to, from what I saw), the last few words would be a sign off and application point. Ok, so we see loneliness in the Bible. We understand that it's not the best case scenario...but what do we do with it? How would these pastors attempt to solve the problem? A few verses of encouragement: God is always by our side...? Or maybe a charge to get involved in each others lives.

I pull out my journal and write out a few more phrases that I might try to eventually formulate into a song. It's all rough and thematic at this point, but I keep going back to the same line.

What if I called you and asked to come and sit with you a while?
We don't have to talk, I just want to feel your nearness warming my skin.

Closure

Something in the universe is out of whack...

I just got an email from my summer FEMINISM professor, asking if I had suggestions about where to buy or rent a nice Halloween costume.

She's going as Sleeping Beauty.

I rest my case.

The Joys of Roommates

I may regret the vulnerability of this post, but the subject was just too funny to keep inside...

First, some back-story:

On Friday I had my hair done, which was apparently the last chemically-colored straw. My mane decided to rebel in full force to the harsh dyes I've taken in over the years and now feels like straw. Some call it "crispies," others would describe it as "fried," either way it adds up to NOT GOOD. When I tried to style it on Sunday morning, I thought I would start crying. I had to turn off my music on the car ride to church and recite to myself all the verses I could think of about how God looks at the inner beauty of the heart. It was the ultimate test: whose approval am I seeking? Pathetic...but very real in its own way.

So I was complaining about my hair to my roommates tonight--contemplating whether the butch haircut needed to eliminate all the breakage would be more attractive than just shaving it off completely--when Alethea pipes up, "Maybe it's God's way of telling you that you shouldn't be dating right now." It doesn't seem so far-fetched. After all, I found I can sort of mask the damage from a distance...as long no one gets close enough to touch it, I'll be ok.

A later point in the conversation made her hypothesis seem even more probable. This part requires a bit more discretion, so forgive me for leaving out some of the details. See, besides hair issues, I've also got this cyst on my lower back which according to my doctor is not cancerous, just aesthetically displeasing. The girls and I discussed lancing options. Kirstin asked to see it...to give herself some reference for the subject at hand. She responded in expletives. And had to sit down for a while before we could proceed. Alethea: "Yeah...I think God really doesn't want you to date." I'm a freak.

So herein lies the test...because it would take an act of God for any guy who reads this to still be interested in me, why not expose my freakdom for all eyes to see? So if God doesn't want me to date, I've just made things a little easier on myself.

Is there SIN in SINgleness?

Geez I hope not...especially since I'm kind of liking being single right now. Fortunately for all of us, the articles I read recently over at The Purple Cellar (and...um...in the BIBLE) seem to agree: it's definitely not. Good for me. Good for a lot of my friends.

A couple of days ago I announced to my friend Ashley that I'm going on a dating hiatus. She and I fasted from boys for a month last January. She actually challenged me to a whole year, to which I responded by laughing at her. We compromised for a month. Needless to say, she's on board with my new resolution. I explained it to her using the same reasoning that a guy friend of mine (who will remain nameless) used to explain himself. When I realized that I only wanted a boyfriend for the benefits I could get from it...I decided it was probably not a good idea for me to even go there. To avoid simply using someone, I'm just going to avoid relationships altogether. A wise choice, if I do say so myself.

Actually, I'd never really considered singleness anything other than Godly and wise. In fact, my youth leaders back in Junior High and High School were very adamant in their caution against dating relationships that would only distract from a relationship with God. You can imagine my surprise when those web articles seemed to suggest that there are a lot of people who look down on what they are now calling "protracted singleness." Maybe I get it--the thought of 40 year old men still living with their mommies...I guess you could harp on that as a lack of responsibility or something...but if we are talking about a bunch of career minded, successful, single people, well that can't be bad...right? Without the worries of a boyfriend or husband, don't I have more time to be concerned with other important ministry stuff? Paul says he wishes we could all be single like him, which makes it sound like marriage is weakness. Only for people who can't control their sex-drive. Speaking of...the human sex drive is probably so strong because otherwise we'd never pair off and procreate. It might explain the reasoning for the oppression of women too--because if we weren't told for all those years that giving birth makes us valuable...we probably wouldn't do it!

Ok...that might be my cynicism going a bit too far. Don't quote me there. But I will venture to say that the Biblical command to abstain from sex before marriage does make me think twice about wanting to do it (getting married, I mean). I wonder sometimes if I would bother with marriage at all if I had no qualms about sex before it. Why commit to someone for "better or worse" when you could commit to "till something better comes along"?

I asked my dad this while I was at home this summer. My parents have been married for over 25 years now, through both better and worse, so I figured he'd have some insight--is it really worth it? He says it is. Not that I expected him to say anything different, but according to my dad, there's something about that level of commitment that makes it worth it to get married. I do like the idea that our earthly marriages are supposed to mirror God's relationship with the church. If God made us to desire a committed relationship to him, then it seems natural that we would desire those relationships with each other. The Bible says that God is more faithful to us than we could ever reciprocate, but it also promises that our faithfulness to God is the route to deeper and deeper intimacy with him. So it goes, I guess, in marriage. The more committed we are to one another, the deeper our relationship can go. And that seems worth it. After all, who hasn't felt all alone at one time or another? Or at more times than others? Maybe what we need in life is less dating and more genuine commitment. More hands to hold on to as we walk through life and less surface level encounters.

I'm willing to bet that part of my aversion to relationships lately has been a defense mechanism against feeling sad about my circumstantial not having one (or at least that sounds like what the current psychobabble would say). Now that I'm happier alone for the moment, I have to go and analyze again why I should prefer to be married. Way to go me. Now I feel bad for not wanting what I've just convinced myself I should want. But maybe there's a simpler solution: really what I think I've just proven, or theorized...or whatever...is that people were created for relationships--for commitment that leads to intimacy. Not a foreign idea, and not foreign in a practical sense in my own life. I totally have that kind of intimacy. I mean, not as much lately--but I know why--how often do I wake up and think about the commitment I have made to my friends? To love and serve and encourage my church family at Shoreline? I've heard that marriages go bad when you start looking at them as something to fill your needs--like when I go to church because I like how it "fires me up" or how the people make me feel good about myself--when I really should view the people in my life in light of the commitment I've made to them. Friends come and go when you rate them according to how much they do for you. But friends that you commit yourself to--well you don't let those friends go because you made a commitment not to. It's the same reason I'm so close to my family--because we are bound by that blood affiliation, a tie which we (at least in my family) respect enough to fight for, even when things get messy. I guess I view blood as the deepest of commitments--one that maybe I didn't willingly make, but I still wholeheartedly honor. And it's definitely had its benefits. If I could view all the relationships in my life as equally predestined, maybe they could all go just as deep and be just as powerful as the few that I am most committed to.

Any sin in singleness? Probably not in a lot of cases--but there is certainly shame in it. A shame that we don't take more advantage of ALL the people God has blessed our lives with. A shame that we don't view our lives in light of the unique opportunities of each stage.

***

"Therefore rid yourselves of all sordidness and rank growth of wickedness, and welcome with meekness the implanted word that has the power to save your souls. But be doers of the word, and not merely hearers who deceive themselves. For if any are hearers of the word and not doers, they are like those who look at themselves in a mirror; for they look at themselves and, on going away, immediately forget what they were like. But those who look into the perfect law, the law of liberty, and persevere, being not hearers who forget but doers who act—they will be blessed in their doing." James 1:21-25

My Peach Cobbler is Stellar

We finally hung up our huge clock in the dining area, but now there is no table. Instead, the space is occupied by three Princess dresses and a bag of trash that needs to go out. I think I'll go table shopping on Sunday.

I opened up a lovely Reisling from World Market and also Germany. They bottled it in 2005.

My current stressors include inspiring high school seniors to write deep college application essays and encouraging the Immac girls not to take such long bathroom breaks.

My dad takes mini vacations where he goes into the woods to write songs. He finished his first one and sent it to me.

My coworker Ashanti sends us transportation lists each morning with a little rhyme. I tried to return the favor today. Mine sucked.

My roommies all have midterms and study very hard. I read books and go to the gym.

And bake pies.

This has been surface level thoughts by Meredith Cooper.

You've lost that lovin feeling...

Maybe it's because I watched Knocked Up with my roommates this afternoon, which Kirstin described as "the best birth control ever." Or perhaps I'm having a John Mayer-esque quarter life crisis. I think I've just about made the full transition into a Los Angelina. This city is getting to me. Bad.

It's the reason I keep looking at my sister's picture on my desk and imagining myself in Nashville. The reason I've taken to journaling more, trying to sort through emotions that I wouldn't brave on the blogosphere. And it just might have something to do with the panicky, sick-to-my-stomach feeling I got this afternoon as I was driving to hang out with some friends. This morning I got into a conversation with a friend I hadn't hung out with in a while in which he asked if there were any new developments in the boy arena. I threw out my usual one-liners and slightly pointed verbal quips. I've always got some story when it comes to guy drama...I like to think that it "somehow miraculously follows me" but the truth is that I probably drag that stuff around by the hair like a caveman's woman. Actually, now that I think about it, I communicate my feelings on the subject with quite the cave-like articulation as well. It doesn't help that I rarely can identify my own emotions anyway, since they change about as often as my hair color. But I digress...

So I'm driving along thinking about my earlier conversation when I actually start to feel physically ill at the thought of trying to date anymore. It's just soo much work--trying to convince them to like you, and having to figure out how they work and what their buttons are so you don't accidentally push one...rearranging your schedule and losing touch with your friends. Ew. All for someone who I will probably be bored with after a month, tops. What is the point?

As I'm explaining this to my roommate later, she gave me this puzzled look. "But don't you want a relationship?" she asks. I guess I don't. She continues, "it's not supposed to be so much work. I guess you just really haven't found the right person yet." I reply with a hearty, "thanks, Mom." Quite after-school special of her, but she's probably not too far from the mark. Moms are usually right after all, so I swallow hard and do my best to appreciate the advice.

My brain won't stop working.

It's this LA thing that I keep getting hung up on. I mean--as days go by, I morph little by little into the stereotype, single city-girl. I'm still a little too Christian to be ok with working the bar scene and rocking the one-night-stands. Which only means that I'm caught in this absurdly awkward limbo between my pro-marriage, pro-baby old-self and the metropolitan socialite I fear is my future. Each day I'm here I become less and less maternal, more of a work-a-holic...less interested in having a man, and more self-sustaining and self-sufficient. On the whole, most would consider it an improvement. I am much more functional in this environment now that I've adopted its values.

And that's why I keep entertaining the thought of getting out. I kind of want to leave. Because if I don't like who I am becoming here, then maybe I need to get back to my roots...in a new place. Somewhere that would appreciate the little girl I must have lost along the 10 freeway on the drive out here three years ago. I kind of miss her.

If you must, skip the intro.

Probably my favorite God-book aside from the Bible is Windows of the Soul by Ken Gire (and no, it has nothing to do with dating) because it talks about how God knows us intimately. Gire asserts that when we train ourselves to look for Him, we find God trying to speak to us through many different facets of life...like poetry, stories, art, dreams, even movies. He doesn't necessarily mean that we look to all things in our lives as "signs" telling us this or that, but that when we view this life in light of Christ, we see that God desires to speak to us, to reveal Himself through creation. I can't seem to put it quite so articulately, but some bizarre events last night reminded me of one of my favorite chapters in the book and sent me into a fit of silly grinning when I realized that God used a good friend of mine to speak personally into my life. I'll let Ken explain first...

"God spoke to [people in the Bible] then and speaks to us now in the language most familiar to us. I'm not talking about our native language...[but] about the language of our heart. And not the human heart in general, but each individual heart, with its own intensely personal images...for each of us over a lifetime has compiled our own dictionary of emotionally rich vocabulary...

"Skim through the pages of your past and you'll find a few of your own. Maybe one of them is teh cuddly feel of grandma's quilt. Or the familiar smell of a lumpy teddy bear. Your mother in the kitchen baking cookies, maybe. Or a tree house...All these images are words from the language of your heart."

Then speaking of a rough time in his past, Gire explains, "[God] had spoken to His children in times past, and we heard echoes of His voice in the Scriptures, but [my wife and I] longed to hear Him speaking not to Moses or to David but to us, directly, personally, intimately."

Gire was skeptical when his wife called one day describing a dream she had the night before about being asked to dance before a crowd of strangers. Not sure whether to claim the event as God speaking or as his wife's mere sub-conscious ramblings, he eventually comes to this conclusion:

"[God] paged through my wife's dog-eared dictionary of childhood memories, picked out an image that was dear to her, and one night bent down and whispered it in her ear. That image touched her in places where words alone couldn't reach. And with that touch, brought healing...

"Do you see the ways of God revealed in the way He speaks? He didn't require Judy to go to seminary and learn Hebrew, the language through which He first spoke to His people. Instead, He learned hers. He learned the language of her heart, which He had been studying since she was a girl. And it's a different language...than He uses when speaking to you and to me. Can you see how incredible that is?

"...He picks images that are as indigenous to our world as...crayons are to the world of a kindergartner. The images may be so personal as to mean little, if anything, to anyone else. But they mean everything to us. He searches our heart for just the right image...That is how well He knows us. And how much He loves us."

I hope through my cutting and pasting, some of these words shine through. Sometimes I read stuff like this and I think that maybe if I were just more articulate...if I could just somehow bottle the emotions coursing through me--to share even a glimpse of God's goodness in my own life would convince the whole world that Christ is King.

***

Of course, I won't ever have enough of those right words to say because it's not really up to me. But what I do hope to share (and I hope you'll forgive the long intro into this), is that God has so personally loved me. I am amazed at how someone as blessed as I am could ever go through periods of sadness. How dare I? Because moments like last night remind me that God listens to my prayers.

How to explain without giving away the precious secrets of the inter-workings of my heart...

But that's just it--God knows those inter-workings better than I do! Before I lose you, let me explain. So last night I had a really bizarre conversation with this guy who asked some very pointed questions and made some even more intensive assertions that made my conversation with that guy in the thrift store a while back seem like a walk in the park. An entertaining chat, nonetheless, that will make for great campfire conversation for years to come, but it was the dialog that took place directly following that received the most attention when I journaled and prayed about the whole thing later. Still this morning, I am elated to think about how God used the second conversation to encourage me so intimately. The last several weeks have been quite the tough time of transition, and lately I've felt really disconnected not only from God but also from the people around me. In times like this, I feel like my prayers are going nowhere. I talk to God, all the while thinking that if I were Him, I wouldn't bother with me either. Like Ken and his wife, I too longed to hear God speak to me in a way that was meant for my ears...for my heart. I know that Scripture is truth, and when it comes to dealing with different problems, my church upbringing has taught me all the "right" answers for each one.

So I think through God's promises in the Bible like so many mantras, but the words just sound empty in my head...until God uses the voice of probably the one person in my life from whom they would mean the most.

He tells me I'm beautiful. He reminds me that I can trust Him.

And in that moment, God makes it all ok again.

Student Philosophy on the Welfare System

I hate filling out tax forms because they are one of the few things in life that remind me I can't make it on my own. I like to think that I'm quite the adult and can maturely handle anything life throws at me. Times like this, I call my dad.

Which would be great...if he'd only pick up the phone.

Trying Mom isn't the best idea because she responds with a lot of "well...maybe you should..."

As I'm complaining about this to one of my students, she rattles off with, "You're paying for people that has too much children!"

Ha!

The "About Me" Section

Some nights are just "On" kind of nights--like when everything that comes out of my mouth is witty and fabulous. My comebacks are strong, and my joke delivery is flawless. Perhaps it has something to do with having just the right crew put together. Like our friend, Dave. Someone mentioned once that the best thing about telling stories to Dave is that he is generous with his laughter, so you always feel funny when you talk to Dave. It's great to be around a group of people who all get each other's humor.

Tonight was funny like that...a lot of fun. Though not a natural blonde, I tend to get a little giggly when I am excited. With the right people, I am comfortable enough to heartily laugh at things that amuse me without feeling judged and awkward.

Somehow in the course of the festivities, I mentioned offhand, "I hate America." A simple enough sentence, but it got quite the dramatic response: "But Meredith, aren't you from Texas?"

Haha. We all laugh. If Dave had been there, he'd have laughed the hardest. Because everyone knows that I am a Texas stereotype: a few parts Hick and a generous helping of Southern Belle, I'm born to be a homemaker, ride horses, praise Jesus, and love my country.

As I drove home, I realized that there are a lot of things like this that people have mis-assumed about me. But I can't actually fault them because I'm the one promoting the stereotype. It's like I've assumed a certain "place" among my friends. As the official Old-School-Texas One, I have to make certain jokes and argue along certain lines because that's the part I play in this drama. I roll with it. Any time there's a chance to throw in a "...and that's why we should all have babies" line, I'm all over it. Done and done.

The problem is, as I change and grow, I'm starting to reevaluate for myself what I really feel and believe about these things. The one-liners are funny enough in conversation, so I keep throwing them out there. But all the while, I'm cheating my friends of the opportunity to actually know me. Maybe I'm belittling them by suggesting that they don't understand that much of my joking is a facade, but when I take an honest look at these issues myself, I can't even tell what's true about me anymore.

For instance, I've always been a huge proponent of marriage and family, but lately I don't even like kids. I find myself being really judgmental when I see a family with an unruly child...even a darling and curious child...pulling a Samantha and wondering why those little brats are even allowed in public at all. At the very least, they should be seen and not heard. Plus, in this body-obsessed culture of LA, the thought of actually going through child birth myself is an additional stress. If I'm not happy with my body now, how in the world am I going to deal with loose skin and stretch marks?? Yuck! Then, I have to give up my entire social life because no one else has kids. What about all those play dates I imagined with my girlfriends and their children? In my College Station future, we were all going to have kids at the same time, be stay-at-home-moms, and visit each other daily to let our kids play, so we could play too. But that won't happen in LA.

And now it hits me, it's not the Southernisms that I've decided to repudiate--it's the thought of trying to fit them into my new life here. I've finally acclimated enough to LA to realize that all those old dreams would be nightmares here. Like dating and marriage--it's not that I'm anti-marriage or relationships, but I'm definitely not impressed with the version of them that I see here. I'm not especially interested in dating the LA way. Maybe I should clarify this for my non-native readers. Now, I don't want to start making assumptions, so mind you this is purely based on my own experiences, but there seem to be only a few options here:

1) Go for the super-Christian. This type may or may not actually love Jesus, but he sure is good at playing the church game. There are a couple of sub-species of this type--the hard-core right wing crazy and the laissez fare Sunday-smiler. Neither is really ideal because the first would beat down even me with a Bible and out-rule-follow me till he's blue in the face. Then the more chill type is also a little too willing to let things slide, enough so that I end up slip-sliding down a slope I never meant to get started on.

2) Play the LA game. This means you keep on doing what you do, being a fabulous and "contended" single. Then, when things get lonely, you call up your back-pocket boy toy for that much needed attention. It's a fairly shoddy way to go about things, but it prevents the complications of a relationship. You don't have to give up any of your own ambitions, and when he stops meeting your needs, you move on. Functional. But it kind of makes me sick to my stomach.

With an either/or like this, it's easy to understand when I say I'm over the dating thing. I would be all for dating and marriage in my Texas way of doing it, but if it has to look like this, I'm just not interested. Oh, the stories I could tell of all the bad dates I've been on in the last three years! Being single is definitely not so bad. If I wanted to be married half as badly as I joke about, I'd have compromised and done it already, but it's just not worth it to pursue the kind of relationships that I've been offered. Maybe one day something more on par with what I'm looking for will come around...then I can go back to being my stereotype, and everyone will be comfortable knowing I am who they pinned me to be. For now, though, it's hard to fake the heart-flutters that are supposed to come with young love, so I just keep out of the way.

I still don't know if I should make a point to stop with the misleading jokes. They really are amusing to me. Any anyone who really takes the time to know me will discover that I've got a lot more depth than that. Laugh on.


****
And as a side note, Justine deserves props for that last song because she "allegedly" played it for me first...

Logo introduces me to the best music.

I really don't want to be one of those people who uses encoded away messages on AIM ("plunging into the deep end" or "putting the pieces back together") or changes my profile/theme song on myspace (Avril Lavigne's "Girlfriend"?). I also hope that I spend more time musing thoughts of my own on this blog rather than citing others.

But every once in a while, as a writer, you come across something that touches some hidden place so deeply inside that it makes you wonder if the artist didn't channel you when they wrote it. Sometimes it's just a short stanza, chorus, or hook. The best songs...those are the ones that fit all the way.

On my computer and in various journals around my room here and in Texas are one liners or concepts that I'd like to one day form into whole poems or songs. I am brilliant in small doses (so I think anyway), but really haven't taken the time to develop the craft into anything worth putting "out there." Thus, I must give a hearty hats-off when I cross paths with a bit of writing that resonates like emotional plagiarism. Without any further adieu, I present, "Love Song" by Sara Barneilles:

Head under water
and they tell me to breathe easy for a while
the breathing gets harder, even I know that
you made room for me but it's too soon to see
if I'm happy in your hands
I'm unusually hard to hold on to

Blank stares at blank pages
no easy way to say this
you mean well, but you make this hard on me

I'm not gonna write you a love song
'cause you asked for it
'cause you need one, you see
I'm not gonna write you a love song
'cause you tell me it's
make or breaking this
if you're on your way
I'm not gonna write you to stay
If all you have is leaving I'm gonna need a better
reason to write you a love song today

I learned the hard way
that they all say things you want to hear
and my heavy heart sinks deep down under you
and your twisted words,
your help just hurts
you are not what I thought you were
hello to high and dry

Convinced me to please you
made me think that I need this too
I'm trying to let you hear me as I am

I'm not gonna write you a love song
'cause you asked for it
'cause you need one, you see
I"m not gonna write you a love song
'cause you tell me it's
make or breaking this
if you're on your way
I'm not gonna write you to stay
if all you have is leaving I'm gonna need a better
reason to write you a love song today

Promise me that you'll leave the light on
to help me see with daylight, my guide, gone
'cause I believe there's a way you can love me
because I say

I won't write you a love song
'cause you asked for it
'cause you need one you see
I'm not gonna write you a love song
'cause you tell me it's make or breaking me
is that why you wanted a love song
'cause you asked for it
'cause you need one you see
I'm not gonna write you a love song
'cause you tell me it's make or breaking this
if you're on your way
I'm not gonna write you to stay
if your heart is nowhere in it
I don't want it for a minute
Babe, I'll walk the seven seas when I believe that
there's a reason to
write you a love song today

Concrete Detail.

Nahrin turned me on to this blog post...I'd like to write some about it, but not especially in the blogging, musing mood the last few days. In case you don't want to read the whole schpeal, here's the best snippet.

"We spend so much energy and time trying to "solve" the singleness problem. And it is right for us to examine ourselves in this matter and to mend what is amiss, and it is right for for pastors to exhort their single congregants to pursue marriage when and where doing so is God-glorifying; but for the most part, we single women can seek and pray for marriage without obsessing on the issue. Let’s get on with life already!"

Stay tuned for eventual commentary. Or maybe I get on with life and don't bother.

Sweet Eugene's

This morning I'm at the local coffee establishment in College Station, Texas, Sweet Eugene's. Growing up in a town like this, if you don't drink, you drink coffee, so "Sweets" was like a second home to me. Being at home, traipsing through my dusty old haunts, always gets me thinking about the might-have-beens. Especially somewhere like here, where half of my high school graduating class stayed to attend either Texas A&M or the local community college, it's easy to feel like the oddball for leaving.

It's good to see the people, though. This week, I got my girls together--there are four of us, whom the guys we ran with called the "Gruesome Foursome." I like to think of us as the College Station version of the Sex and the City girls. Though the sexual part of it really doesn't compare, I'd argue that our conversations are just as delightful. True to form, when we get together, the topic eventually turns to relationships. With each of us 21, three years into college, Sallie's engaged, Cat dating someone and Mitzi and I are up in the air. The stats are actually really surprising, but easy to explain. Two of us left College Station, so that's why we may not have four weddings to attend next summer. Of course I say "may" because there's no telling what could happen in the next year.

Thankfully, since our lives went in so many directions, we talk about more than just wedding plans (although it's funny to hear Sallie muse about her future as a pastor's wife and the difficulties of registering). Among our discussions were the problems with abstinence-only education, Texas education in general, the upcoming election, breast exams, local beers, ministry, and so forth. At one point we started to rag on "those guys" who join some of the more extreme Christian groups on campus, like the Christian fraternity BUC's (Brother's Under Christ) or some of the larger churches (ie: mine, Grace Bible). For many reasons, I hesitate to jump on the bandwagon against any of these poor souls, but it's easy to make fun of the quite dramatic version of courtship that takes place between a boy of that caliber and his chosen. It goes something like this:

Boy sees girl across the room at some church or Christian group function. Boy quietly and carefully observes girl for a semester or so. Sometimes this involves actually talking to the girl, but only in the most friendly, casual manner, perhaps at a Bible study meeting or game of Ultimate Frisbee. All the while, he prays, asking God to reveal to him whether this beauty is indeed the woman that God has chosen for him to pursue as a wife. Once he feels confidant that God is telling him to initiate a relationship with her, he begins some research. If she's local (like me), it won't be hard for him to contact her father in person, otherwise email will have to do. If he can snag Papa's permission, he approaches the girl for a DMI--a conversation in which he will "define my intentions." Provided she accepts, they begin a period of courtship, entailing some upright and moral date activities (that means in large groups or very public places, no rated-R movies or "pagan" concerts, etc) and a sufficiently lengthy list of physical limitations (no interdigitating fingers until after six weeks, never being alone together at either person's apartment after dark...you know, the basic stuff). The courtship phase continues as such until some point within the couple's last year of school, sooner if the parent's permit, when he proposes and they marry.

We all laugh. "How dramatic!" And, "Who would ever do something like that?" "It puts too much pressure on things." All heads nod in agreement. As enlightened college women, such conservative ideals are more faded than the found-on-the-side-of-the-road coffee house couches upon which we used to sit, back when we believed them. More condescending laughter, when I speak up: "Let's be honest, if I had stayed, I'd probably be dating one of those guys." We all laugh and agree.

Let's be honest, if I had stayed, I'd be sporting my own left-hand diamond. Because in this town, if you are cute and love Jesus, they don't let you out alive...er, alone. And every time I come back, I have to ask myself that same question: am I really happy that I left? Yeah yeah, we rag on the idea of courtship and how seriously people take relationships, but if it had been my story, I'm sure it would seem quite romantic and very, very normal. But, since, in Cali, that's not how we do, making fun of the system staves off the jealousy.

Last Saturday, I ran into my 1st grade teacher, who asked if I "had a beau in my life." She followed up to my negative reply with, "What's the problem?" She may have added, sensing my awkwardness, an afterthought, "...with the boys in California?" but by that point, my eyes had already glazed over as I tried to compensate with some garble about how things are different out there. I don't see why archaic ideas about marrying young or others' choices to do so have to demean my own successes. It's dumb that I feel like there's only so much happiness to go around--as if people getting married here somehow takes away my ability to be happy. And do I really want that story? There's no way I would have found my voice, my self, if I had stayed. I think God directed me outward because He knew my happiness required a different route. I'm the other kind of cliche--the one who has to leap, full-force, out of the nest, crossing my fingers that I can figure out my wings on the way down, before it's too late.

And man does it feel good to fly.

For the Love of the Game

Conveniently enough, I get Chrissie's blog in my inbox any time she writes something new and fabulous, and she recently turned me on to this post. (it's short, go check it out) In it, the author talks about how love is a choice, describing the metaphor of God's pursuit of Israel as seen in the book of Hosea. Hosea (and God) continued to pursue his prostitute, not because she "made him happy" or "completed him," but because he made a covenant choice to love her.

Not really new stuff for me, but something in the article triggered a conversation I had a while back with a friend of mine (a churchie, at that). He argued on behalf of his crew of Christian guys, saying that they didn't want to feel pressured by the women in their lives to date--that they, frankly, wanted to be "allowed to fall in love." What's with that?

My mind starts breaking things down. Taken as fact:
1. Love is a choice.
2. Marriage is a choice.
But the problem is that we want the storybook stuff. Dating and marriage can't be like buying socks: you scan your options, checking things like price--and don't for a minute think that girls don't come with different prices--, color, softness, and so forth, then grab a pair (pun?) and head for the check out. (Or for the more simple, snag the first pack you see and get out of there) Shouldn't love tug at your heartstrings a little more than that? When it comes to analyzing Biblical ideas, I feel forced to be so black and white. Godly: picking an appropriate mate. Sinful: getting all mushy about it. I hate that we so often associate emotions with sin. True, those little boogers (emotions) can be tricky, but I know for a fact that stoicism isn't godly either. God himself has emotions, and he likely created emotion in us to reflect it in Him. So where do we draw the line?

Which brings me to my next point: why am I so obsessed with drawing lines? I feel like most of my posts are me trying to analyze and define all the areas of my life (ok, maybe just those parts that deal with relationships--are we seeing a theme?), asking a lot of questions and never really getting anywhere. And no, this post isn't leading to my vow to make a change--I'll probably continue as the same nut job I've always been--but it might explain why I haven't written as much lately. Because it's hard to write about life when you're busy living it.

Tangent aside, I feel like people know by now--because our culture is obsessed with psychoanalysis--that it's common to fall in love with the idea of love. We realize the benefit of couples' counseling and always cede to the relationship advice of Dr. Phil-types. In the church, we do sermon series on love and intimacy just so that we make sure to get it right. And of course we read and blog about it to cover our bases, so love doesn't sneak up and bite us while we are off guard.

On my more pessimistic days, I think that all men should, at a certain, marriageable age, sit down with a book about how to choose a woman--or better yet, with an older couple who can choose one for him--then pick and get hitched. (Of course if that were the norm, I'd probably be blogging my complaints about that system.) Still, I'm pretty old fashioned about the promises we make "for better or worse," and hope that if I marry, I won't break that covenant without a fight. On the other hand, I'm a dreamer, a self-proclaimed princess/damsel in distress type who is easily captivated by the sweep-her-off-her-feet fairy tale. Somehow I think that marriage for me will be super-easy because I'll be "in love," because I'll do everything right, because I was bred and raised to be wife and mom. How do those two worlds coexist within one tiny me? Well, they do, and I don't really feel like figuring out how it works exactly, except to assume that there must be some sort of balance and meshing.

Now it seems that I've run myself into so many circles that I don't know how to end this thing. God forbid I save it so that I can go back later and fix the structural lack-of-integrity. Why thoughtfully consider, when I could rant? How else could I secure myself humbling (or frightening and inappropriate) correction via the comments section?

A friend's recent wise words come to mind. It doesn't take any faith to earnestly desire things like health and happiness...because it is natural to hope for those. When prayers for health aren't answered, it's not because we just didn't believe hard enough (or have enough faith) that God could heal. It's not that we didn't want it enough--who are we to manipulate God by our petty desires, anyway? What takes faith is believing that the way God wants to orchestrate things is actually the best way...that whether or not I understand it, He does. So I guess the wisest way to handle this love stuff comes back around to a choice: however He plans to work it all out for me, I'm game.

Gravity is Working Against Me: Feminism, Desire, and How God Answers My Questions

As promised, here's my follow up after my feminism class met yesterday...

Turns out this whole desire thing is pretty well explained by good ol' Freud. The big mystery of life--that we discussed yesterday--is where does that tricky desire come from? There's this crazy argument about the nature vs. culture dichotomy, and a lot of people want to explain culture in terms of nature--ie: we function in certain ways, or culture develops in certain ways, because of our innate nature. The problem with trying to define nature, though, is that culture develops differently from place to place. Though nearly all cultures have taboos surrounding food, excretion, and reproduction--boundaries that determine what is considered "clean" and "unclean"--those demarcations are not the same cross culturally. Because said taboos are not the same, Poststructuralists argue, it is impossible to solidify "the person" outside of culture, time, humanity, etc. If you stopped following right about now, don't stress (Poststruct-what??), Freud falls on the other side of the argument, with the Essentialists, who explain culture in terms of innate nature: we are a certain way just because that's how humans are. So the Essentialist idea goes that people have this "lack," an inner void, if you will (sound familiar churchies?), that we are trying to fill. Hence, desire occurs because we are unsatisfied from birth. Freud explains that somewhere in the recesses of our unconscious, we hold to this ahistorical unity of self with "the Mother" (the existence of which, of course, the Poststructuralists question altogether)--that at one time we were a unified self, but at birth we are torn from our "home," which creates the "lack," a hole we spend our whole lives trying to fill. Freud says, I miss my mommy. Church tells me, I miss God.

So in my last post I skirted the issue of desire, asking lots of questions, but making no attempt to answer them for myself. Today, I spent some time with my journal to get to the bottom of things. No, really, what do I desire?

Frankly, I'd be lying if I didn't answer, "God"...because I do desire Him. But I'd be lying if I did answer simply as such...because it really isn't the whole truth. Of course, now my inner Legalist feels guilty because she knows the answer should be God. Period. If I really love Jesus, I wouldn't think of anything else, right? So I shouldn't desire. End of story. Rational Meredith steps in--well if I do desire other things, perhaps it's a problem of a misplaced signifier. In other words, perhaps I desire a man because I'm trying to fill the God-shaped void inside myself. Still digging for the bottom.

It's easiest to tackle the big one first: my desire for a man/boyfriend/husband. The illusive "One." So, really, why do I want a guy in my life? What is the desire that manifests as the signifier, "man"? I made a list...to feel valued, cared for, appreciated...for physical satisfaction, security. Even some more noble (sounding?) reasons--to learn what it's like to love sacrificially like Christ, to experience the depths of intimacy, to literally "make disciples" as I raise my children to know and understand God's truth. Then there's some other, less prominent (or overwhelmingly daunting) things on my list--I desire close friends, a good job, money, possessions--most of which link back to the same whys of seeking a man. And awkwardly enough, they are the very same reasons I seek after Christ: value, love, security...

Surprise! I find myself with another big issue: I've always believed that only in Christ will I truly find the desires of my heart. Allegedly, He will fill me up in ways that no man ever could. Now, experience shows that man will indeed fall short of my needs, expectations, whatever. However, that assumes that I can predict the future based on past events--logic that sometimes works, but can't actually be proven. To explain, it would be silly for me to make this argument: every time I have flipped a coin, it landed heads up; therefore, this next flip will also be heads. But it follows the same logic, only seems more plausible, to suggest that every time I drop my pen it falls to the ground. Therefore, this time it will also fall. Even though the logical progression is the same, what makes the first example sound dumb is that you question my lack of testing--how many times have I actually flipped the coin? Because probability says that, since we know the other side of the coin exists, it may eventually fall tails-up. Conversely, we know of no other alternative to gravity, and it's been tested for however many thousands or billions of years old you believe the earth to be. If we relate this logic to the boy situation, it leans (or maybe is pulled) toward gravity. I've never met a boy who could fulfill me like Christ. I haven't heard of anyone who found a soulmate to 100% truly complete them. Evidence seems to indicate that filling the void with a man isn't actually possible. But who knows? Maybe one day I'll drop my pen, and it will float up. I'm open to the idea...but I wouldn't bank on it. On the other hand, God is like the coin's tail. I can point to moments of closeness that made everything on this earth seem trivial. I know that tails must exist because I've seen it, felt it. And even though it seems like lately I'm flipping more heads than the French guillotines, I press on.

This Desire Which is Not One

I read several interesting quips this week for my feminism class which got me thinking about desire. The reading which stood out most to me was by the Belgian psycho-linguist and philosopher, Luce Irigaray, an excerpt from This Sex Which is Not One. Admittedly, I didn't understand everything she posed, so this post may be a bit premature (In class tomorrow, I will hopefully find some clarification), but I found many of her ideas intriguing, perhaps for no other reason than that they were worded so ethereally. First she ventures to explain that,

"Woman...is only a more or less obliging prop for the enactment of man's fantasies. That she may find pleasure there in that role, by proxy, is possible, even certain. But such pleasure is above all a masochistic prostitution of her body to a desire that is not her own, and it leaves her in a familiar state of dependency upon a man. Not knowing what she wants, ready for anything, even asking for more, so long as he will "take" her as his "object" when he seeks his own pleasure. Thus she will not say what she herself wants; moreover, she does not know, or no longer knows, what she wants."

Aside from the fact that her fourth "sentence" there is really a fragment, I am irritated by Irigaray's assertion that I don't know what I want. Now, I can admit that I don't know what I want, but I don't want anyone else telling me that. Besides, how does she know what I want? Actually, the whole bit reminds me of Romans 7 when Paul describes his spiritual battle between what his carnal desires seek and what his soul longs for. I love her response later in the paper:

"Thus what [women] desire is precisely nothing, and at the same time everything. Always something more and something else besides that one--sexual organ, for example,--that you give them, attribute to them. Their desire is often interpreted, and feared, as a sort of insatiable hunger, a voracity that will swallow you whole. Whereas it really involves a different economy more than anything else, one that upsets the linearity of a project, undermines the goal-object of a desire, diffuses the polarization toward a single pleasure, disconcerts fidelity to a single discourse..."

Got all that? I guess what frustrates me most is that this whole piece blabs on about how women are confused by their own desires. I think feminists mostly attribute this to social conditioning and sexual repression...yada yada...men are the enemy...so on and so forth. But aren't we all a little confused at times about what we want? I don't think it's just women.

Maybe it's just Christians and women...because I don't talk to enough non-Christian guys about these kinds of things...but it seems that a lot of people deal with internal dichotomies--opposites that they equally desire. Feminism often bashes binaries--discussing how society has constructed everything in terms of "normal" versus "other," to the detriment of all involved. This is a whole different topic, but basically you have man, who is normal, and woman may only be represented in terms that discuss her as "not man." Human is normal and animal is non-human, therefore, not normal. The list goes on. The French think it's a language thing--that we learn to view things as normal vs. non-normal because that's the only way we know how to talk about them. I think I don't really care. Point being, it seems that people have all sorts of binary ideals--differing desires that compete for prominence and attention. For instance, I want to be beautiful in the eyes of the men in my life, but I don't want to be objectified. Sort of contradictory, no? And I want to be smart, but I don't feel like studying. I want to have a great relationship with God, but I don't always feel like opening my Bible to read about Him...to get to know Him better.

What baffles me more than binaries, though, is how Irigaray suggests that women's plurality of desires is unique to our gender, as if men do not understand, cannot comprehend a more complex system. Do yall really have such a one-track mind? Her definition goes into some really awkward descriptions of anatomy that I'd rather not venture, glorifying the sex organs by suggesting their ability to define the essential nature of a man and a woman. Man is singular. Woman is multiple. Man is simple, woman complex.

My question still lingers: what do I really desire? According to Irigaray (and I LOVE this), the only reason I want a baby is because I'm sexually unfulfilled. And feminism tells me that the only reason I want a man is because society has conditioned me to believe this. Even some of my Christian girlfriends tell me that I am too young to desire a serious relationship--that I should enjoy my freedom (because marriage = enslavement) while I still have it. The feminists are right about one thing: I am certainly confused about what I want. It's hard to navigate my own emotions while so many outside sources yell out nautical coordinates. (Now I've got Garth Brooks singing in my head about how a "dream is like a river...") Class tells me that I cannot look to my patriarchal religion for the truth about how to feel--that its a socially constructed tool for subordinating women. But where else am I to find an anchor, a star to guide my way?

Enough sea puns and Christianese. These last weeks have been busy, and what I love (and simultaneously hate) about being busy is that it prevents me from having to answer my own questions. It doesn't matter what I really want if I establish a schedule packed enough that I never have the time to think about it. And when a free moment arises, which might lend to self reflection, I write complex, theoretical blog posts about it. Problem solved.

Final note: I'd love to hear anyone else's thoughts on the Irigaray quotes. Perhaps I'll reel in some fresh ideas tomorrow at sea...er class... (couldn't resist a couple more...I almost titled this piece "The Old Mere and the Sea"...seriously done now)

New Music

I heard this song on the radio tonight and immediately came home, downloaded it, and put it on my myspace profile.

(So darling!)

Bubbly
by Colbie Caillat.

I've been awake for a while now
you've got me feelin like a child now
cause every time I see your bubbly face
I get the tingles in a silly place

It starts in my toes
makes me crinkle my nose
where ever it goes I always know
that you make me smile
please stay for a while now
just take your time
where ever you go

The rain is fallin on my window pane
but we are hidin in a safer place
under the covers stayin dry and warm
you give me feelins that I adore

It starts in my toes
makes me crinkle my nose
where ever it goes
I always know
that you make me smile
please stay for a while now
just take your time
where ever you go

What am I gonna say
when you make me feel this way
I just...mmm.....

It starts in my toes
makes me crinkle my nose
where ever it goes
I always know
that you make me smile
please stay for a while now
just take your time
where ever you go

I’ve been asleep for a while now
You tucked me in just like a child now
Cause every time you hold me in your arms
I'm comfortable enough to feel your warmth

It starts in my soul
And I lose all control
When you kiss my nose
The feelin shows
Cause you make me smile
Baby just take your time
Holdin me tight

Where ever, where ever, where ever you go
Where ever, where ever, where ever you go...

Can a Girl Get Friend-Zoned?

Regardless of your opinion of the recent non-blockbuster, Just Friends, I would have to argue that the film holds merit in, if nothing else, the fact that it officially coined a term that we've all been wracking our brains to put a name to: the friend zone. Then, of course there's that scene with the drugged girlfriend and the toothpaste which is just beyond...*refocusing, clears throat*...So the friend zone is this amorphous, painful, no-chance-of-ever-scoring place that we ladies tend to put guys--and once you go there, gentlemen, there is no coming back. Allegedly, the worst line that a girl can give a guy is, "you're such a great friend." Because once you're a friend, you can never be anything more.

Before I continue with that thought, though, I must pause to introduce the other film from which I will draw for this post. A little compare/contrast, if you will. According to the wisdom that is When Harry Met Sally, a perhaps more credible reference than the aforementioned, men and women can't actually be friends. Harry lays out a few exceptions to the rule, but for the most part, he explains (and the course of events in the movie supports) that eventually someone always gets hurt. Inevitably, one person always falls for the other. The other, who will ever-so-kindly friend them to death.

My roommate, Lauren, disagrees. She tells me that she's got quite a few guy friends that really are just friends--nothing between the two of them and no desire for it, either. I'm impressed. So I dig around for some personal examples, a testimony of my own. Sure, I've got loads of guy friends, past and present. In high school, I preferred them anyway because I couldn't stand most girls. So I've got plenty of examples to consider, any of which would make a lovely selling point for my argument. However, to avoid having to make up a gaggle of pseudonyms (to protect the innocent), you'll have to take me at my word. A blanket statement: I'm with Harry. In male-female friendships, it seems like something always goes amiss. Often it's me, daydreaming and planning. I misread intentions because I intend for them to mean something quite different from what he intends. Or maybe because I'm a girl so I think that every action must have a motivation, every word a subtext, which I'm told isn't true when you're a guy. Still, I start to assume...search my own heart and all of a sudden the TV set goes fuzzy like it's raining and the picture comes in sideways, which probably wouldn't happen if I upgraded to digital, but I'm too old fashioned. Then it's, "I never looked at him like this before...and what if he's...like...the one..." (vomit) Thus, I find myself up a creek without a paddle. Or a boat. Or a life vest. Maybe I scrounge up some water-wings, but let's be honest, one rough series of rapids , one sharp rock, and I'm fish food. (Not to be confused with the Ben & Jerry's ice cream flavor. Conveniently, they spell fish with a "ph" so as to differentiate.) Of course, sometimes, it's not me, which has been more the case since I hit college and learned that boys at parties are not nice to you just because their mama raised em right. And no one likes the awkwardness of "just hanging out" at your apartment, which he apparently saw as an invitation to mack on you. Classy.

Before you jump to any conclusions (especially those of my readers who are, in fact, male friends of mine), I feel I should clarify my stance. I'm fine with having guy friends--comes with the territory. You know...of life. Seeing as how half the planet is indeed, male, it only makes sense that I must interact with them at some point. (I say this like it's drag...ha.) But in all seriousness, after I left high school, I started to realize that one day I might be married, and I don't want my husband to be worried or stressed or jealous if I have a lot of really close friends that are guys. Plus I don't need any extra temptation. So I started pulling back a little. I let those old friendships, that were now inhibited by several hundred miles, peter out. Currently, though there are several "big brother" figures in my life, I would just as soon not become BFF with a bunch of boys. Especially if it will end in my own heartache or his friend-zone frustration. There are plenty of guys that I care about and enjoying hanging out with--but the moment things start to get a little too personal, or I start to really want to spend a lot of time with one guy in particular, it makes more sense to draw the line. I have enough friends as it is. And they are girls, which, though significantly more catty, are also strikingly safer companions.

Going back to my original question, it's hard not to speculate. My stereotypes of men have gotten me into trouble in the past, so now I know better than to assume that it's always the "nice guy" who secretly obsesses over the cute-but-clearly-oblivious female. Either sex is equally susceptible to that awkward moment when the other person mentions how delightful it is to have such a great friend. Talk about a DTR gone wrong. When did that word become so repulsive? Friend? Maybe it's a shot to the pride--a "how could you not like me?" moment where you start to question your worth and that inner intuition that people are always telling you to trust...that just lead you monstrously astray. I can't help but think it also has a little bit to do with the fact that we see every interaction in our lives through the "what's in it for me?" lens. I don't think anyone wants to call it like it is, but we probably only have friends because it benefits us to do so. And if being friends with a guy is going to do me more harm than good, why would I put myself through the torture? If it's going to come down to the friend-zone...and if it really is this icky place that you can't ever get out of...why continue to invest in it? Forgive my non-committal nature, but I think I'll bail.