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The Great Apple Cinnamon Bourbon Experiment

2011-10-23T15:18:00.000-07:00

I resisted shopping at the Whole Foods that is .4 miles from my house for about a month before I decided to wander in. Switching my grocery shopping location to Whole Foods may be the best and worst decision I have ever made. I mean, it's great because everything there is organic and natural and awesome, and the prices aren't too bad either for the simple stuff. The thing is though, they have so many awesome specialized items that I want to buy. Vegan sausage? Yes please. A grow your own mushroom kit? Hell yeah! I want it all. As it is, I spend all my money on food. Going to Whole Foods to me is like sending my mom and my sisters to Nordstrom. I gotta have it all.

About three weeks ago, I had a strange impulse buy- a copy of Urban Farms Magazine. I've always wanted to attempt to grow my own vegetables in my apartment, and it said something about cocktails on the front of the magazine. So i went and paid 6 dollars for a magazine. I read it cover to cover while I was supposed to be planning my lessons for the upcoming week. The magazine featured lots of articles about hydroponics, composting, growing vegetables in the back of a pick up truck, but the piece that really caught my attention was about brewing your own cocktails at home. They talked about the wealth of flavored liqueurs readily available in the store, but the article was about forgoing those options in favor of brewing your own unique creations at home. I knew immediately that I wanted to try this at home. According to Judith Hausman, author of this article, all you need is the following:

1.) A clean mason jar

2.) Spirit of choice

3.) fruit

4.) Sweetener

5.) A strainer

6.) Optional items- cheesecloth, ascorbic acid, bottles for storage

So all you do is fill a jar with fruit and sugar, pour in the liqueur, let it sit for two weeks, strain it out, and voila- instant flavored alcohol. How fun does that sound?

I waited for weeks until I had the opportunity to do this. I had a jar of pasta sauce that I was not using up very quickly (and I didn't want to buy a jar), so I had to wait until either I finished using the sauce, or it went moldy just so I could have a jar. You're probably thinking to yourself, "Idiot, just buy a damn jar!" No man. The hippie environmentalist inside of me says, "Don't buy that jar." Besides, I can't seem to find anyone that recycles glass here in Las Vegas, so until I do, I'll be stockpiling all my glass in a large garbage bag in my apartment. It's nice that I can reuse my bottles for something as awesome as this.

So, the other day I was going to make a pizza and I went to grab my tomato sauce and low and behold- fuzzy mold spots. Part of me was really sad because I really wanted that on my pizza. But I was mostly thrilled because I knew I could now have infusing alcohol fun with my newly available special equipment.

I started out with a bottle of Ancient Age Bourbon.

Ancient Age Bourbon is available at Lee's Discount Liqueur for the low price of $8.99. I did not taste it, mostly because it was so inexpensive, and it kinda smells like paint thinner. That's the thing about infusions though- You can start out with some really low quality alcohol, add some fruit, and suddenly you have something delicious. My roommate used this philosophy with the sangria that she made for her wedding.

Why bourbon? I wanted to start out with something robust, because I was about some lovely fall flavors to this bourbon. I can't imagine infusing a clear, lighter alcohol with cinnamon and honey. I think bourbon will be best. It may still be 80 degrees every day here in Vegas, but that doesn't mean I can't pretend it's fall, right?

So i started out by slicing some apples...

I chose granny smiths because I was going to add a lot of sweetener, so I wanted my apples to be more tart. Also, granny smiths are a crisp apple, and not to soft and grainy, which I believe makes them ideal for the infusing process because they will hold up better after being subjected to sitting in liquid for several weeks.

So I put the first apple in my pasta jar, along with a quarter a cup of light brown sugar, and a quarter cup of honey. The base recipe calls for one cup of white sugar. I used brown sugar and honey for two reasons: 1.) Honey and brown sugar are flavors I associated with apples more than white sugar. Both are a little more caramel-y instead of just extremely sweet. And 2.) I don' t have white sugar in the house and didn't feel like buying any today.

I proceeded to cut another apple and added that to the jar, with another quarter cup each of honey and brown sugar. I also shoved three cinnamon sticks in there as well. And then I poured the bourbon, shook it a whole bunch of times. The end result looks like this:

The next step is to shake it every day, and open it up after about two weeks. Strain, and enjoy. Excited for the end result? Me too. This jar is going under the sink, and will see you again in two weeks. Stay tuned...

UPDATE- 11/16/2011

I opened the bottle a week ago. Sorry!

But damn, it was tasty. Sweet from the apples, the sugar and honey. Spicy from the cinnamon and alcohol. When I try it again, I will use one cinnamon stick less.

Here are some pictures:

The recipe yielded about two cups. But you can double or triple it! I put the finished product inside an old kombucha bottle. My roommate drinks a ton of the stuff, and we don't have class recycling, so I figured I'd put the bottles to use.

Compare the color and the clearness to the first bottle I posted. It's very different- it's a deeper brown, and has taken on the appearence of apple cider. It's best with ice, since it's so sweet.

Want the recipe? Here it is!

Ingredients:

2 Large Granny Smith apples

1/4 cup honey

1/4 cup brown sugar (I used light brown- it may be better, but sweeter with dark)

2 4-inch long cinnamon sticks

A bottle of Bourbon ( i used a cheap, $8 bottle from my liquor store.)

Instructions: Core, and cut the apples into 1/2 inch pieces. Add half of the apples to a mason jar or another clean bottle (about the size of your average pasta sauce jar). Pour half the sugar and half the honey on top of the apples. Repeat these steps with the remaining apples, honey, and sugar. Squeeze the cinnamon sticks into the bottle where you can find room. Next, pour bourbon into the jar until full. Cover and shake the jar. Add more bourbon if the ingredients have settled and there is more room in the jar. Keep shaking and pouring until all the sugar is dissolved and there is no room in the jar. (see my pictures above for the desired appearance). Put jar in a dark place to infuse.

Every day, shake the jar to mix the ingredients. After about 2 weeks (or whenever you like, taste it every day until you get the desired flavor), train the mixture through a fine mesh sieve. Disgard of the apples and cinnamon sticks. Bottle your infusion, and enjoy with ice!

You may want to consider removing the cinnamon sticks from the jar after a couple days. Mine tasted very strongly of cinnamon, but I like that. Just taste as you go, and you won't go wrong.

Boyfriend.

2011-10-13T01:05:00.000-07:00

I have a boyfriend.

Dan and I have been dating in some capacity for five years, but for some reason our relationship receives so much less legitimacy than other people's.

When I teach my class, it'd be considered unprofessional to bring up the fact that i have a boyfriend, or that I'm dating at all. But it'd be perfectly fine to mention I'm married. This isn't a directive given to me from a high up- it's just part of the stigma of being an unmarried woman.

I've encountered married people who have implied that my relationship isn't as strong as theirs because I don't have a slip of paper and didn't throw myself a gigantic party. I had a conversation with a fellow student. I was talking about living away from my boyfriend for an extended period of time. This guy told me how he spent some time away from his wife while doing his graduate work. "But it's different," he said, "We're married."

First of all, would you like a cookie because apparently you miss your wife more than I miss my boyfriend?

Furthermore, how? How the hell is it different? Please, enlighten me. How is it different? If i'm not mistaken, this person has only known their spouse for about two years. They were married a year ago. Dan and I have been dating for 5 years, meaning we've had the past five years to really get to know each other, and we still talk every single night even though we live 2500 miles apart. In fact, I'm not sure how anyone can agree to be with someone forever without this long period of intensely getting to know someone.

I'm just wondering why this stigma exists in the world of heterosexuality. Why are long-term relationships between unmarried people viewed upon as negative, whereas short-term married relationships are perfectly reasonable?

Is it the forever thing? Because while my boyfriend and I are living separately at the moment, we are definitely viewing our relationship as a forever sort of ordeal. We don't view our relationship as disposable, and we don't see it as something that can just be ended when things are tough. Is it the fact that marriage turns some people into relationship elitists? Perhaps.

At the same time, a huge part of me wants to be married. I want the legitimacy. I want to feel like my relationship is "real". I want my relationship to finally have some status, so that we can fit into the rest of the world.

But seriously, how did something like a big party determine our status as "real" people? How did an institution, which has a long history of purely existing for the purposes of property ownership, become so important? What role does a government have to play in who i happen to be dating, cohabiting, or planning to have children with?

I'm just not sure why I have to blow upwards to $40,000 on to feel like a grown-up, for a right of passage, and for an official, fully sanctioned relationship. I think it should be ok for me to have a boyfriend, and that should mean something to other people, because to me, it means everything.

The Ugly Duckling will always be Ugly.

2011-10-02T01:21:00.000-07:00

I started to think about this whole notion of the ugly duckling while watching the first episode of SNL, which first aired back in 1975. Janis Ian was a musical guest, and she sang her most well-known hit, "At Seventeen". I've been listening to it non-stop since then. I can't think of a song that I can relate with more, (besides the song "Creep" by Radiohead, of course). Basically, "At Seventeen" recounts the life of Janis Ian was a younger girl, when people mostly ignored her because of her different looks. The lyric that really struck me was "And those whose names were never called... when choosing sides for basketball". There were many days during middle school where I'd be the last person picked for kickball or dodgeball teams at gym class.

I've always been insecure about my looks. I grew up in Kintnersville, Pennsylvania, and while my "hometown" (whose human to cow ratio was probably 1:15) was only 40 miles from Philadelphia, it was probably one of the least racially diverse areas in the entire county. In fact, we were only about 15 miles from Doylestown, PA, which I have dubbed the "Pennsylvania capital of white people", because it is seriously the whitest town on earth. But anyways, my area was exceptionally white. Kintnersville was an odd mix of redneck farmers whose wives still sported 1980s style mullets, and ritzy upperclass people who built mansions in the middle of the country, while commuting to work in either New York of Philadelphia. My family and I fell somewhere in between: we were upper middle class, and my father commuted to Allentown, and later, Norristown to work as an emergency room physician. But the one thing these two very different groups had in common was the fact that they were all white. All my peers at my tiny catholic elementary school were white. Starting at the age of 4, I started to attend pre-school there, and I quickly noticed how I was different from my friends. I would envy their beautiful white skin. They would let me stroke their silky, perfectly straight blonde hair during play time. I would try and run my fingers through my ratty, unkempt, jet black hair, and usually my hand would get stuck. I wanted to have the silky, tangle-less hair my friends had.

As we grew older, I always felt like my classmates grew more beautiful, while I grew much more awkward. I never felt bad about my looks. When I was 9 years old, I began my lifelong obsession with star wars, and I'd drape my long black hair over my shoulders and pretend I was a young Princess Leia. I really thought I was beautiful.

Fast forward to 4th grade. It was our daily snack time- 10 AM to 10:15. I was pacing the classroom, trying to find someone to trade snack with. My mom likely packed me an apple, and usually when this happened, I would take the 30 cents she had given me that morning to buy chocolate milk at lunch and bought a piece of candy (usually a sour warhead, just one) from a kid in my class whose mother packed him candy regularly. What a rip off- a pack of those were only 50 cents. Anyways, there was a boy standing near the closet door, holding a fruit roll-up.

"What are you doing, Kevin?" I asked, inquisitively.

"I'm giving a piece of my fruit roll-up to all the girls in our class who are pretty."

"Oh," I said. I stood there for a good 30 seconds, expectantly, waiting for my fruit roll up.

He looked at me awkwardly, and walked away, and handed a piece of fruit rollup to a white, red-headed girl in my class.

It was the first time in my life that I considered myself possibly unattractive. It was as if this moment happened, and then my physical appearance took a turn for the worse.

In the 5th grade, I had to get glasses. While this is the normal next step for the average nerdy kid, it's really damaging for your psyche, if you're already feeling insecure about your looks, glasses is pretty much social suicide. It was an entire month before I finally got the courage to wear them at school. Being sick of feeling humiliated because I couldn't read the board in front of the class, I caved, and I put on my glasses. My grades immediately went up, and I no longer felt stupid for not being able to read the board and the overheads. I knew though that everyone had officially pegged me as a freak.

In the 6th grade my face started to break out. I would be plagued by acne until.... about a month ago.

In seventh grade I finally figured out why my hair was always so ratty, frizzy, and annoying: it was actually curly. Not like that made it better. I didn't know a single person who had curly hair like mine. I didn't know how to style it, and hair straightening technology wasn't very developed back then. So, now I was an acne ridden mustached teenager who was slowly growing a fro, whose use of school uniforms left me with very little fashion sense. Luckily I had a cool mom, who could see how I was struggling with my body and appearance, and she would take me to get my eyebrows waxed and get nice haircuts and quality makeup to cover up my face that was slowly exploding.

I like to think I've evolved since then. I want to believe that I've outgrown the acne, the frizzy hair, most of the social awkwardness, and the ridicule. But I haven't. I may never.

You see, while there is now a different girl in the mirror, that insecure 13 year old is the only person I'm going to see. When someone tells me I look beautiful, I'm only going to hear those kids who told me to shave my mustache and the like. When I look at pictures of myself, I'm always going to flashback to that yearbook from 2001, when the eighth graders who organized it thought it would be hilarious to put an incredibly unflattering picture of me inside of it. A girl in my class actually wrote in her year book next to it, "Remember this loser." And that's how I feel when I look at myself. I still feel like a loser.

While we may grow up to be swans, many of us will still look in the mirror and see the ugly duckling. The worst part is that I spend most of my day looking at myself. I practice flute for about 3 hours a day, and I do so in front of the mirror, and while I spend most of that time scrutinizing my playing, I also heavily criticize my looks at the same time.

Most of the time, I don't even feel like I grew up to be a swan. Just an ugly duck.

"To those of us who knew the pain
Of valentines that never came
And those whose names were never called
When choosing sides for basketball
It was long ago and far away
the world was younger than today
when dreams were all they gave for free
to ugly duckling girls like me"

-Janis Ian

Things I am insecure about.

2011-09-26T00:10:00.001-07:00

I think that most of my problems I've had with my self esteem over the years stem from some pretty deep insecurities I have about myself and my various life choices. I hope that by listing them here, I can come to terms with them, but mostly just make you laugh or feel sad.

1.) I used to have a major insecurity about using public restrooms as a child. I was convinced that I peed too loud, or at least, louder than the girls in my class that were really popular and made fun of me all the time. I also did this thing where I thought it would save time if I pulled down my pants before I got into the stall. Yes, it did save time. No, I did not realize until after I did it that the bathroom was filled with other girls, who immediately pointed and laughed at me.

2.) I've always been insecure about my ears. If you look at my pictures from when I was a young girl.... I looked like dumbo the elephant. I had these adorable dimples... and these GIGANTIC ears. Back in the day, my mom never let me out of the house unless i did my hair- and she qualified doing my hair as one of the following: a.) wearing a headband, or b.) wearing a ponytail. Needless to say.... both hairstyles were not complimentary to my gigantic ears that were going to fly me up, up, and away. Unfortunately, I did not realize just how big my ears were until a couple months ago, when we were putting together pictures for our family reunion photo slideshow. Now I think I understand why all the kids thought I was severely unattractive.

3.) I've been very insecure about being monolingual. Is that weird? I mean, 80% of people in the United States only speak one language (don't quote me on that, I made that up.) So why does this make me feel insecure? Have you ever been to a family party where you know your mom is talking about you with your aunt but you don't understand what she's saying? Enough said.

4.) My gratuitous amount of body hair. Ever since I was a small child, I had a coat of thick black hair on my arms and legs. When I was little, mom would stroke my arms and say to me, "The more hair you have, the richer you will be when you grow up." Well, sorry mommy, but I'm a struggling graduate student who gets only $1,000 to teach two college courses and goes to school full time when I'm not doing that, so unfortunately, no amount of body hair provided me with decent living wages at this stage in my life. No, the only thing having really hairy arms and legs (and face...) has done for me is brought me ridicule. "Shave your mustache, Chrissy!" Well yeah, dumb kid from my childhood? You dropped out of college. I'm getting my master's degree. So SUCK IT.

5.) I cry a lot. In public places. I'm very emotional. I would have two days, every school year, where I'd fail a test (or in some cases... get a 74 on a test), and bawl my freaking eyes out. Most people thought I was a cry baby. They were correct. Can I help that we had high standards in my house? Anywho, this trait of crying has followed me throughout life. Looking at an audition list where I did pitifully? Cry. Can't play flute during my lesson? Cry. Pissed that the office forgot to order parts for the orchestra for my concerto? Cry and scream. Order 66 in Star Wars Revenge of the Sith? Bawl/whimper. Darth Vader screams: "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!" immediately afterwards? Laugh.

6.) Sometimes, I feel really insecure about where I went to college. It's a question I get a lot- "Where are you, Chrissy?" "Oh, I'm from near Philadelphia." "Ok, cool! Did you go to Temple?" "...no. I went to West Chester." "Oh, what is that?" Not kidding. I've had this conversation at least 8 times since I came here. Ok, so West Chester may not be that well known. Our list of distinguished graduates may only include people like Asher Roth and Joe Biden's wife, but I had a good education. I'm rolling with people who went to North Texas, UCLA, and USC here in Vegas. And despite the fact that I went to baby West Chester University, Acme-State University as I have sarcastically referred to it over the years, I know deep down inside that my music program was damn good, it helped me pass most of my entrance exams, and oh yeah, we have the best marching band in the world. Not kidding about that either. Look us up on youtube.

7.) I love garlic. So i'm insecure about smelling like it. But wouldn't that make people love me more? Who doesn't love the smell of garlic?

8.) I'm recently insecure about the way i say the word "water". Google some videos about philly talk. My colloquialisms are a watered down (hahaha, speaking of which...) version of that accent. People don't talk like that in Vegas. Also, people don't understand me when I start slurring all my words together. I once said to someone, "Djyeet yet?" and they sort of just looked at me funny. oh well, I'm not going to stop talking like this unless someone pays me.... so pay me and I'll talk like a normal person. But until then, I choose to remain connected to my homeland by talking like i have no tongue.

I'm supposed to tie this up in a clever way, but it's 1 AM, and all I can think about is practicing in the morning. Good night world. And remember, if you ever think you are paranoid and you have issues... just come to my blog, and see everything I happen to be insecure about.

Oversharing about Oversharing.

2011-06-28T20:24:00.001-07:00

I was confronted by my dad about 5 minutes ago about my facebook. "One of Mom's relatives said they saw your facebook and they saw some disturbing things on it." "Oh, like what?" i replied, as I petted my new kitten, Taco (see facebook for more details.) "There's profanity... and stuff. It was just very disturbing." Needless to say, I'm slightly pissed off by the lecture I was just given about "not writing anything about students or co-workers because it'll get you fired." Um, duh dad. I'm not 8 years old.

But seriously, I've been accused of sharing to much about my personal life over the internet for years. Seriously, if I had a nickel for every time I was yelled at for writing something about my mom, my sister, or myself on instant messenger, my facebook, my xanga (uh huh, xanga), I'd be the richest person on earth. But at 23 years old, I feel entitled to finally write, uncensored (to a certain extent), about my life. And here's a couple reasons why:

1.) First, to address the issue of profanity. Here's a not-so-secret about profanity: everyone uses it. I went to a college where professors and students alike used profanity pretty regularly during classes, and no one was offended. Maybe it's because I went to a fairly liberal college where that was ok? I guess i need to keep reminding myself that my parents' families are extremely conservative. But at any rate... turn on your TV: you will hear bad words. Go out on the street, you'll hear them. Open up any adult novel, and you'll see them. Shakespeare used profanity. There's curse words in classic rock songs. Most broadway shows have songs that contain profanity. My point is.... they are real. I say them. I bet you sometimes say them. So the fact that I, as a 23 year old woman, sometimes drops and F-bomb should be no surprise. As long as that word isn't directed towards my parents, then i think we're ok. There are even words that I don't like hearing that I don't personally use. But will I go writing on someone's facebook- "hey, don't say that. That word is bad!" Of course not.

2.) To me, nothing that is real should be a taboo. Similarly to the point I made above about swearing, if it exists, I should be able to say it or talk about it. If I have a disagreement with my mom, I should be able to tell someone so. If I believe that two men or two women should be able to get married, I should be able to publicly declare that. How would you like it if you could not speak your mind on a regular basis? The only information you'd be permitted to give people is the following:

"I am fantastic! My life is awesome!"

"My parents and I have the perfect relationship!"

"I agree with everything the Catholic church and the Republican Party tell me!"

"My siblings and I have always gotten along! We're really close!"

Imagine that this is all you can tell people when your life is actually like this:

"My life could be better. While I have two good jobs, I don't necessarily enjoy either of them. They're just not for me."

"My parents and I are very different people and have very different opinions about everything."

"I am at odds with various Catholic teachings and I'm definitely not a Republican."

"I sometimes don't see eye to eye with my other siblings. But who does?"

Do you have any idea how hard it is to stay inside the closet about most of my life? I live with my parents for Christsakes. It's exhausting to keep up the appearance of being the perfect, God-fearing, Red state Christian daughter everyone would like to think I am. At my age, it's about time I get to freely be who I want to be, without fear of being tattled on to my parents.

3.) Just because I may write on my facebook or blog that I disagree with my parents or anyone else, it doesn't mean i love them less. They're my parents. This goes without saying. It's very different to disagree with a person, as opposed to writing derogatory comments about someone. Know the difference before you come here.

4.) My opinions are not disturbing. Just because i support planned parenthood, birth control, comprehensive sex education, gay marriage, public education, healthcare for all, and other stuff that's labeled as "socialism" by others doesn't mean i am disturbed. It means i am different from you.

5.) My opinions are not a reflection of my parents. Mostly because I'm not them. My opinions may have been affected by their parenting, and by parenting, I mean to say that they raised me to be very independent, which may have backfired on them when I registered as a Democrat. Just because I have views that you perceive as "bad" and "wrong" doesn't mean they did something wrong. My parents are good people who raised four children, all as unique as the colors of the rainbow. Not every child grows up to share their parents views. There is really no need to point out that I'm outspoken about these issues to my parents and make them feel embarrassed about having this kind of daughter. They already know that I'm a leftist commie pinko hippie. And they still love me just the same.

6.) i have never once said anything about my boss or coworkers online. I only write about my personal life, not my "professional" one.

7.) My dad ended the conversation by saying that I should be very careful about what I share on the internet, and that some things should be kept personal. Sure, some things like my parents' lives, the nitty gritty details of my childhood, and how often I have a bowel movement should be kept personal. I should be able to share my feelings and opinions. I like them and I want to share them with the world. That should be ok.

Anyone who has read this blog before probably knows that I am a huge fan of the TV show Sex and the City. In fact, i was inspired 2 summers ago to write a blog because of the character, Carrie Bradshaw, and her fearlessness to share about her sexcapades and relationships in late 90s-early 2000s New York City. I admired her ability to write publicly about her relationships and sexual experiences without the fear of being slut-shamed or getting lectured by her mom and dad. While I don't write very often, when I do write, it's because I believe i have an important voice, one that deserves to be heard. So let me get my 2 seconds to say what I want to say, leave your comments to me and only me, and leave my parents out of it. Because as you may have read already, I don't write about their personal lives. Just mine, and the way they interact with my life. I think that's ok. If you don't, then please don't read my blog.

How can you burn in happiness?

2011-06-17T13:47:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, good things happen to me. I don't really remember the specifics of the events, but I just know they happened. I had a really great senior recital, but it's now all a blur except for the videos that I have on my computer. I had a great party afterward, but all I remember now is the comments people gave about the cheesecakes I made after the fact, and the thank you cards that I forgot to send. I had a good audition at UNLV... all I remember is the 5 hour flight home.

A lot of the time, bad things happen to me. I can replay the horrific disaster that was shattering the moon roof on my dad's car with a kayak 2 summers ago. I remember about 80% of the times I've twisted my ankles in great detail- where I was, what it felt like, how painful it was, and the long and frustrating recovery. I remember the exact words i used and how the hot tears felt as they ran down my face when i had disagreements and arguments with my loved ones. It's like my bad experiences have been permanently burned onto my psyche. The 5 rejection letters I received from graduate schools left me so paralyzed, I didn't know if I would ever pick up my flute and play fearlessly again.

For some reason, it's like all my bad experiences have been permanentely tatooed onto my psyche. If you could see my soul it would be covered in images of tears, loved ones I miss, people i've wronged, activities I used to love, broken glass, bad test grades, rejection letters, and missed opportunities.

Apparently, it's not just me. Natalie Portman barely remembers her Oscar Speech. Many women plan weddings for months, but after the fact, the day is just one big blur. But I'm sure if you asked any of these people what the most traumatic or saddest experience of their life was, they'd be able to tell you in great detail.

My question is: Why do our bad experiences get burned into our minds and hearts forever, while our happy ones are fleeting? Is there any way to burn our good experiences into our thoughts and behavior patterns the same way we've internalized the bad?

Perhaps forgiveness works as a tattoo removal surgery for the soul. Only through forgiveness can we erase the burn marks left by these bad experiences. I need to forgive other people for what they've done to me, but most of all, I need to forgive myself for the mistakes i have made.

So here's the real question: how do we forgive?

Thoughts upon being Half-Filipino and Half-Irish, and upon race in general

2011-06-13T08:04:00.002-07:00

First of all... many people (including myself at some points) refer to me as "half-Asian". I would first like to remind everyone that Asia is not a country. I think it's weird that all Asian people are lumped into one large group. I have a feeling that most of the people who read this will be white. Well... do you like being lumped into one white group? A Filipino person has as much in common with a Chinese person as a British person does with a German person. So first lesson... I'm half Filipino.
For some reason, whenever I tell anyone I'm Filipino, they usually say something along these lines: "Oh wow, that's so cool! I have a cousin/friend/friend's mom/sister's roommates uncle's cousins bus driver that is Filipino/half-Filipino! They're so beautiful! In fact, everyone single Filipino person I've met is really pretty!" I kid you not, I have been told this by several different people. Apparently, people need to feel like they can somehow relate in some way to my race, and they automatically relate Filipinoness with beauty, much like people associate black people fried chicken, Mexicans with tacos, Japanese people with sushi, and "White People" worldwide with oppression of all the aforementioned groups. Ok, I bet people really don't do that, but if you find out that I'm am indeed part Filipino, there is no need to tell me that Filipino people are beautiful. You'd score more points if you told me I was pretty, but it has nothing to do with my race.
People seem to forget that I am also half Irish, and I'm probably more educated in my Irish culture than I am my other half. I was a competitive Irish dancer for 7 years, and every year I would skip school on St. Patrick's Day and dance shows in various pubs all day long. I've also been to Ireland 10 times, have Irish citizenship and an Irish passport, and my parents own a home there. I also drink lots of Guinness (well, I drink a lot in general) and swear like a sailor. I'm really much more Irish than I am Filipino, but people don't really find that as interesting as my other race.
Also, people seem to forget that this is the USA, and that we're all Americans. The fact that I'm half anything shouldn't matter. I'm an American first and foremost. I celebrate the 4th of July, Thanksgiving, and the secular gift giving winter holiday known as "Christmas", own a red white and blue bathing suit, and I love our traditional foods of hamburgers, hot dogs, and the Philadelphia favorites water ice, cheesesteaks, and soft pretzels. My family owns 5 cars, two of which are SUVs, and we live in a big house in the middle of no where with the lack of any public transportation and drive 10 miles to the nearest grocery store. We are an American family, and part of being one is being multicultural, but still being a larger part of a whole people. Sometimes, I feel liek we use race in the US to make ourselves special. Maybe we'd feel more united by remember that we have "Americanness" in common, no matter where our parents or grandparents came from.
In America, long blonde beach hair, tan skin, and perfectly toned hairless bodies are considered attractive. I read on wikipedia that Filipino people value skin whiteness in women. According to a poll taken in 2004, over half of women in the Philippines are using some sort of skin-lightening product to appear to look whiter. When I read this, suddenly all those times where my mom said to me as a child, "You were my prettiest baby. Look at this picture, you look like a porcelain doll! Your skin is so white!" made sense. Since then, my mom has assimilated into more American culture, and has told me a few times, "You are so white. Do people think you are a white person?"
I do not speak Tagalog, the language of the Philippines. I recently read an article that being bilingual was frowned upon by American society, thanks to xenophobia. I sometimes wonder if I was never taught Tagalog because my parents thought it would prevent me from being "American", I would have trouble with English in school, and in turn, people would act cruelly to me for not being as white skinned and fluent in English as they were. Or it could just be the fact that only one of my parents speaks this language and it's hard to raise the kids in a language if one parent speaks it. But I do know kids whose one parent speaks a language and that parent taught it to their child, and now they're fluent in a second language and I can only throw around phrases in Spanish and say random crap in German and Japanese. I want my kids to be bilingual someday, but not in Tagalog. I think it's important that they speak Spanish, since so many people in the US do speak Spanish and it'd be very helpful, and since I will likely be marrying a Jewish person, I think it may be useful for them to have a solid grasp on Hebrew, since there is a national language for the Jewish people for the first time in 2000 years. I think it's awesome that Europe, and even some Asian nations (including the Philippines- thanks to the American influence there, most people in urban regions speak English fluently) they value language so much, and many people speak 2, 3, or even 4 languages. In the US, we take foreign languages so for granted that we treat them like a chore, an unnecessary evil, and we expect the world to cater to us, which they've done for the past 50-100 years. But when the US economy tanks again and we no longer remain the world reserve currency, and when China takes over the world and Spanish speaking people become the majority in the US, we probably won't make any strides to improve our language learning skills. We'll probably do what we usually do: act out racistly and post signs on our buildings that say "this is America- speak English."
We're living during an interesting time. There's youtube videos warning about the "Arabization" of European culture. There's a movement in Germany with posters saying, "German is hot!" with a picture of a caucasian chick in a bikini with her boobs hanging out. While we many of us feel we're safe from this "cultural takover" in the US, there are movements like this in our country as well. The Christian extreme right Quiverfull movement perpetuates having as many children as possible to outpopulate other groups, thus taking the majority of the country. As a mentioned above, people protest the immigration and rapid reproduction of Spanish speaking groups with signs in their windows to speak English. The people associated with these movements and signs are usually White, extremely Christian (and I'm talking about, ultra fundamentalist, women stay in the kitchen while men sell rods to beat children with because the book of proverbs says it's the right tool to beat your children and wife with. I differentiate because I have many friends who are thinking, intelligent, Christians who still follow the bible but do so in a thoughtful, discerning fashion, and i definitely am not talking about them) who usually decry any sort of modern science such as evolution, for example. But could it be that these groups are resisting cultural evolution just as much as they are resisting scientific, economic, and political evolution? While it is important to keep our traditions, resisting change to the point that it perpetuates hate and possible violence is wrong on all accounts.

I think the question I have here is: why do we act in different ways around people that are of different races? Isn't this the great American melting pot, an immersion of cultures that when put together make a most delicious soup? The way I view it is we're all different vegetables in the pot, and we choose to sit in the broth with the heat on low, and none of us are breaking down. Maybe are a little, but we're pretty much the same, hard, barely cooked vegetable, no longer how long we stay. Instead of making breaking down and being one entity, we're just stock with a bunch of hard undercooked vegetables. And that does not a delicious soup make. Maybe the key isn't to break down completely, but just slightly- enough to acknowledge the fact that we're all have the USA in common, but to stay a veggie chunk in the soup to remember who we are. In the end, we aren't color blind, but at the same time, we an make a better effort to understand one another, not because of race, but because we're all different people.

and I'll be fluent in some language one day. Maybe. I hope.

Thoughts upon being Half-Filipino and Half-

2011-06-13T08:04:00.001-07:00

Lifegoal: bilingual

2011-05-24T20:07:00.000-07:00

Hello, my name is Chrissy and I'm a perfectionist.

(hi chrissy)

no seriously, there should be a club for us. except we wouldn't be anonymous. Everyone would know about us perfectionists, how awesome we are or wish we were, and how perfect we want to be.

Being a perfectionist has been very interesting to say the least. I really do believe it's a state of mind that's commonly misunderstood. I mean, who sets a goal with every intention to fail? No one. But we perfectionists take it to the next level. We will set the goal extremely high, we'll reach that goal, and most importantly, we will reach that goal better than you will.

Perfectionism has been both a help and a hindrance for my life. In some ways, being raised with such high standards for myself has really pushed me to my limit. Being forced to never come home with a grade lower than a 100 really required me to give 100% in everything I did. For that, I thank my tiger mom for making me who I am today.

In other ways, it has completely paralyzed me. You see, we perfectionists are intelligent, and will only do things perfectly (don't tell me perfect is imaginary- that's bullshit.) We're not stupid though- if we know we can't be perfect at it, we won't do it. And if you're like me, a dangerous combination between perfectionist and self-deprecating... well, you can just imagine the thoughts that go through my head on a daily basis. If you can't, don't try. It's a crazy place up there in my mind.

Unfortunately, the language learning process doesn't really jive well with the perfectionist mindset. Language learning requires trial and error; at some points, you're required to humiliate yourself by mustering the bravado to speak a language you've only begun to study, only to be laughed at by complete strangers who know better than you.

Yeah, perfectionists don't deal well with these challenges.

The last time i attempted to learn a language was on a trip to Vienna two years ago. My positive thinking peers would attempt to speak their broken german everywhere- to the trolley driver, the waiter at the restaurant, the bartender, the guy at the pizza place (yes, we did eat a lot and drink a lot too. that's what you do in a foreign country when you're 20 years old.)

Me, however.... Zilch. I refused to open my mouth. our conversation teacher would talk at us for an hour and a half straight every day, saying words I had never heard before, asking me questions. And I'd just stare at her until class was over, and then drown my sorrows in a turkish kebap, which I ordered in English.

"i'm not ready yet," I told my boyfriend. "I've never heard most of these sounds before. I can just speak this language. I can't even attempt it unless it's absolutely perfect. if i don't, I'm just going to make mistakes and get into bad habits."

The more and more i look into language learning methods, it seems that in order to get proficient at any language, I'm going ot have to humiliated myself at least once or 5,000 times. Sucks, I know, but it's something I'm going to have to get used to. I had a dream though: I want to be able to communicate with people all around the world. I want friends in other countries. I want to be able to speak to my children in a language other than english, and I want them to experience the power of knowing a foreign language and the doors it can open to them.

There's about 15 languages I want to learn. Tagalog, German, Spanish, French, Hebrew, and Japanese are just 6 of them. But i still only speak one- English- mostly because i'm too afraid to make the mistakes necessary to learn successfully.

My new lifegoal, besides to become a fantastic flute player, marry my boyfriend in a super fantastic peacock wedding and start our life together, and to never return to my parents house to live ever again, is to be bilingual. I know i can do it. I'm smart enough. I mean, I can do this, right?

My perfectionist side says yes, go for it. Unfortunately, that's the side of me I'm going to have to ignore in order to get it done.

When you're too much

2011-05-13T17:27:00.000-07:00

I wrote this last night, but since blogger sucks, I couldn’t post this until today.

This is a topic that’s really close to my heart. So bear with me as I get much too personal today.

When my mom would need a break from running our large family that often took her for granted, she would spend some time away. The night she left to spend time at my nanay's or aunt's, I’d have dreams where she’d be home again, watching movies or serving us dinner, completely happy. We’d be spending time together as if nothing had ever happened between us. When my relationship with my boyfriend was turbulent, I’d have these dreams where we were back together, totally fine. The dreams were wonderful and cruel. They represented my deepest wants- for my relationship with my mother and my boyfriend to be okay, and for all of us to be together and happy, which was usually the complete opposite of the current situation.

Last night, I had one of these dreams. I had a dream about a dear friend I had left behind about three years ago. The most beautiful of dreams- we were hanging out as if we were in high school again. I said something completely crazy and stupid- she just looked at me and said, “well... that was weird,” exactly what she would say in real life. As I said above, beautiful and cruel, because this dream will likely never be a reality ever again.

This person and I used to be the best of friends. About three years ago, she cut all ties with me. She decided I was too much too handle. And she was right. It’s hard to be friends with someone with the full-blown crazies (not the term my therapist used, but I prefer this to “mental illness”, which makes me sound like I’m sick. I live like any “normal” person. I'm perfectly capable of functioning daily and I have many good relationships with people, and I have two jobs where I can dial down the cuckoopants enough to convince people I'm competent. I just have more difficulty coping than most people.) And she realized one night during the summer three years ago that my negative attitude was dragging her down. Her friendship with me was not good for her. So she cut me off at one of the most difficult times of my life, when I felt more alone than ever due to the end of my other major relationship.

Of course I was angry. I’m crazy, remember? I always get NUCLEAR angry whenever anything happens. In fact, I’m still a little angry that my friend was not willing to commit to me, through thick and thin, because that’s not the kind of person I am. But nothing compares to the anger I have at myself when I think about the fact that we no longer talk because of me and my many personal problems- and the fact that she’s so much better off without me.

The tears are running down my face as I write this. I’ve never written any of this down, nor have I spoken about it out loud to anyone, not even to my boyfriend, to whom I tell everything.

I know that somewhere out there, she’s happy because she has control over her life now that I’m no longer her concern. She no longer has to save me. I haven’t tried to make contact, mostly because she asked. But even if she’s over it now and she's ready to have a friendship with me again, I will never make contact. And this is so incredibly painful for me, because I want her back, but I know I’m bad for her. I’m a poisonous person for her, so I let her go because I know she’s happy now, even though I wish she was still there for me. And while this hurts so much, I’m happy that she’s okay, now that she no longer has to worry about me.

I doubt she’ll ever see this. But if she sees this, I have 3 things I want to tell her:

1.) Happy birthday. I think that was this week.
2.) I just found a pouch of Welch’s fruit snacks on my kitchen counter today. They remind me of you and physics class.
3.) I’m not better. I may never be better. But I’m getting better (at least I think I am.) I love you. I will always love you. I miss you. And I’m sorry.

Neurotic thoughts from a Lunatic at 3 AM

2011-04-12T00:09:00.000-07:00

1.) i think newborn babies look like aliens and I don't know if I could ever have a baby because I keep seeing all these pictures of newborns and they're so creepy looking.

2.) I want to have a wedding but as of right now and I have it all planned out, dress and all. But i can't get married because I have no real job, have not started grad school, boyfriend doesn't have a long-term job, and, oh yeah, I don't want to be married yet. That may be a large caveat for the time being.

3.) I have so much to get done between now and april 29th. Like, if I don't get this project done, the fate of the rest of my life will be completely changed. i'm not even being dramatic. It's so overwhelming that I'm trying not to really think about it. and I'm shutting down....

4.) I can't bring myself to practice because I feel like I"m not really moving towards a goal. Shouldn't I want to practice because I like playing flute?

5.) I can't sleep. I want to sleep, but i can't sleep. I CAN'T SLEEP

6.) I keep snapping at my parents because of their ultra-conservative values. But i can't help it if what i believe is better.

7.) I need to figure out a way to someday be jewish without my parents disowning me. maybe I could just not tell them? ha, like that'll work.

8.) I watch hours of say yes to the dress to laugh at how dumb the women are who can't remember what their wedding dress looks like and then they try on the same dress and realize "oh shit, i did like this!!" morons.

9.) If i don't go to graduate school, I'll die.

10.) I now want to practice, but it's too late and my parents are sleeping. And i'm still tryign to get to sleep. first the in the morning- i'll do it. Maybe.

11.) I need to work out too because I"m a fatass, but that's not really happening either.

12.) I need money. and i'm sick doing manual labor/selling people shit.

13.) I wish my parents were more like me. I think it would make our lives much easier.

14.) I also wish we ate things other than buffalo wings in this house. yuck yuck yuck.

15.) I'm sick of spending all my money on food.

16.) i still hate selling people shit.

17.) MEOW MEOW MEOW I LOVE MY CAT

18.) i miss my boyfriend who is awesome but makes me angry sometimes.

19.) ALEKFKLEARIJ$EWJEIRG why can't i sleep?

What the hell happened to my balls?

2011-04-08T13:04:00.000-07:00

When I was a kid, I used to be a competitive Irish dancer. I started when I was about seven, and I quit when I was 15, after smashing up my right ankle the morning after pulling an all-nighter at a friend's birthday party. I would attend about 8 or 9 competitions a year, all of which lead up to regionals and nationals.

And I lost. A lot.

In fact, I'm pretty sure that out in my 8 year dance career, four of which were spent at championship level, i only had 2 years that I can actually deem "successful"- which were the middle two years. My first and last year when I had to stop were marked by failure after failure to get a trophy.

I mean, I'd get upset when I didn't place. OK, understatement: I would throw massive super gigantic fits at which point my mother would lock me in the car until I either calmed down or fell asleep (yes, I did this when I was 14 years old. Don't judge.) But I'd always show up at class the next week, ready to get working again. After not placing at regionals (when I had been top 25 the two years prior) my last year of dance, I was looking forward to a new year where I could really get focused and make some big improvements (such was not the case: mum stopped taking me to classes regularly because my sisters had both quit, and then I had my debilitating injury.) But seriously, after having a large nuclear-explosive fit of anger at myself for failure, I'd always be ready to jump back in (literally) and practice some more. I really wanted to win.

These days, I seem to be stopping after my massive fit stage. Given, I have most of these massive fits in private, over the phone with my boyfriend, and they're slightly tamer in nature (maybe), but I feel like I have been staring at my flute for the past 4 months after receiving 5 rejection emails, trying to find a reason to really sit down and try again. I've been trying to bring myself to work on my senior capstone project, which has been marred by legal obstacles and no finances, but even the mere idea of failure makes me want to have no desire to touch it.

When I was a kid, I wasn't like this. Sure, i'd get upset when I failed; who doesn't? But usually after failure, I never wanted to quit. I wanted to put the shoes back on and try again until it was right.

Even my current relationship wasn't always easy. But when everything failed, I refused to give up on it. Even after not speaking to each for five months, my heart never truly thought we were through. this year, we will be celebrating our fifth anniversary, something many married couples can't even achieve.

But what is it with my current endeavors with graduating and practicing that is stopping me in my tracks? What hell happened to my balls?

I feel like i'm really shutting down right now. There's so much that has to get done between now and april 29th that I'm completely overwhelmed. I know this post is short, and I don't have much to say, but just remember me in your thoughts until I can get through this.

How to be Happy: A Beginner's Primer

2011-02-26T20:40:00.001-08:00

This just in, folks:

Something good happened to me.

Woah, what?

I know, right? It's wild. I had a good week, earned a good amount of money in the past 2 weeks, starting trying out new flutes and headjoints, flew to Vegas, had a wonderful experience and a wonderful audition, not to mention my awesomely sweet new haircut, and the fact that I was able to donate 10 inches of my hair I had grown out for over 1.5 years to a child out there that's suffering from hairloss... It's been a good week.

I think I might be happy.

So, how does one be happy? I have miserable down; eat the entire contents of one's fridge, write an angry blogpost that ends up offending several people, lash out on family, cry for hours on end while talking to boyfriend on the phone, and cry hours on end by yourself.

I have angry down- it's kinda like miserable, but less crying and more screaming and lashing out at parents.

But this happy thing- this is tricky. Not really sure what to do with myself.

So here I am, writing a manual on how to be happy. I'm sure the rules and actual motions will change, depending on how long I'm permitted to stay this way.

Rule #1: Don't question it.

When you're a person who's life has been full of disappointment after disappointment, when something good happens, you can't help but to think it's some sort of cruel joke. You begin to look around the room to see if there's hidden camera men and some skeezy TV host, waiting to pop out and scream "HAHAHA YOUR LIFE STILL SUCKS!" and everyone around you will laugh at you.

When good things happen (a good experience, someone gives you a compliment, or you're just drunk or something), don't question it. Don't ask "why me?", don't think you don't deserve it, and don't try to refuse or reject it. To those of you who haven't dealt with prolonged crappy-life-ness, you're probably asking why i'd have to even say "Don't reject it." Well, for those of us who have received the shit end of the stick for an extended period of time, we don't really no much else. I know several people who search for clouds in the sunniest of situations (and yes... there are people besides me who do think this way), or who get extremely confused when they hear a compliment. They try to either make excuses or reject the kind words that come there way.

But go with it. It's ok to be happy. Acceptance is the first step to recovery.

Rule #2: Enjoy it. Don't try to get it over with.

No pain, no gain is the main philosophy for the lives of so many people. If you're like me and your life has sucked for a while, your main philosophy soon becomes "No pain, no... anything." So when you find yourself with a period of happiness... enjoy it. Don't think it's fake because there's no pain. Take the time and just soak it in. It's like a glass of good wine. Don't gulp the thing down and then get sloppy and start screaming and insulting people. Enjoy. Sip slowly. Be mellow.

Rule #3: Maybe everything doesn't suck.

I was told by someone a couple days ago. "Everything is fine. it's the way you look at life that makes it bad." Granted, there are events in my life that truly do suck. Being a 22 year old teenager living with mum and dad is less than desirable. Attempting to finish a project to get my diploma that I know is bound to fail is pretty depressing too. Working 2 jobs and earning less than $200 a week- also a big bummer.

But let's look at some of these things in a different light. Living with my parents means I don't have to live with roommates, pay rent, pay for food, my car, or any bills. Finishing this project will not only get my diploma that I've been working my ass off for 5 years for, but it'll also teach me how to set up this type of project elsewhere (perhaps if my grad school wants to stream concerts live, i'll be able to do this for them too or something.) It'll also be an important lesson in being proactive and having the work ethic and drive to complete something. By working 2 jobs, I earn some money, which is much better than the alternative: sitting at home, earning no money, spending my time alone with my thoughts, which is a dangerous place to be. Also, by working this two jobs instead of finding a full time job right now, it has given me the flexibility to fly to the west in the middle of the week for a grad school audition.

Who knows- it could be the dawn of the springtime that makes me slightly more optimistic than usual (if we've met, I'm sure i've told you that I suffer from severe seasonal affective disorder, which renders me dysfunctional and unstable between the months of November and March of each year), but I think I've come up with some good ways to "cope" (heh) with my new-found happiness. Here's to hoping it lasts for at least the next day or two!

Coming out to your parents

2011-02-20T18:03:00.000-08:00

If anyone who has read this blog more than once can tell, I've felt completely beside myself ever since I've come home. This blog has been the source of my complaints over the past almost 10 months. I've complained about everything: frustrations over my perceptions of my abilities, how other perceive me, but I've probably bitched most about one topic: family.

I've always had a difficult relationship with my family; I think that several people probably expect my family to be as strange and zany as I am. In some ways, you're right. My mother has "eccentric" (more like tacky) ideas for decorating our house. My dad is just a strange person in general. But in most ways, we are completely different. My mother would often tell me growing up, "Chrissy, stop being so weird." I would always retort with a smart, "There's no such thing as weird." She'd always knock me back down, "Yes, there is."

At school, I was loud, obnoxious, EXTREMELY socially awkward, said all the wrong things at the wrong time, wore my hair in crazy ways, and just act really embarrassingly. I was never afraid to be different. Well... I was never afraid in front of other people.

My family is a different story. I have always wanted to fit in, feel loved by my parents, feel like I'm not embarrassing my siblings at school, and in turn, that would make me feel good about myself. However, I've always had to choose between being me and pleasing them. I know it's been worth it to be comfortable with who I am, but it's always made me feel uncomfortable at home.

Today was one of my most heartbreaking, uncomfortable moments of living with my parents I've experienced in my entire life. I was watching the Worst Cooks of America (love that show!) on food network. On the show, there was a woman named Georg. Watching the show, i kinda suspected that Georg was either a lesbian, but she looked "straight" enough for my parents to not notice that there was something up with her. During the second to last episode, they brought out the family members- and low and behold, Georg's wife, Theresa, came out.

My parents stared at the TV screen in disgust: "WIFE?!?!?! SHE HAS A WIFE?!?!" "Yes..." I answered quietly. "Georg has a wife." Dad was bewildered, "But how can she have a wife?" "She's a lesbian," I said casually. "Well, I know that, but she can't have a wife! How can she have a wife?!" my Dad continued, as he chewed on the filet mignon I had made him moments before (which, by the way, my mom told me to cook to medium well. It ended up being too pink for his tastes. It was a beautiful steak. Just eat it, dammit. But anyway...) "I don't know, maybe they got married somewhere," I said as cooly as possible, trying to hold in the angry screams of "PEOPLE ARE GAY! GET THE FUCK OVER IT!" that were filling my head. I decided to give up my battle. It wouldn't end well for me; I would inevitably lose my cool and go off on my parents. I wanted to enjoy my glass of wine, so I decided to attempt to let it go. My parents would not, however.

The two women, who hadn't seen each other in weeks, kissed. "EWW!" my mom shrieked. "Now we're watching the freak show," my dad said, sipping on some soup. I was raging inside. I sat across the table, quietly sipping my wine, trying to enjoy my TV show. I was angry at my parents for being so short sighted, but I was angry mostly at myself. Here were these two women, being out and honest with themselves on national television. To them, gay is normal. But here I am, sitting at a table while my parents go off on how it's not normal, how they're freaks, scoffing at the idea of two women kissing, and I can't even get the courage to stand up and say, "You know what? It's ok. People are gay, mom and dad. How you're acting and speaking is close-minded, immature, and it's the reason I find it so difficult to spend time with both of you."

But I didn't do that. I just sat there. And every time I just sit there and never speak up when they say terrible things about gay people. And when I just sit there, I feel like I'm letting my gay friends down by accepting (in a way) my parents' non-acceptance of them. I feel ashamed of my beliefs, which are always so confident when they're not around. I feel like i'm part of the problem we have in this house (and in this country) by not standing up to them. And while I know it will never compare to an actually gay person's experience, I feel like I'm living my life in the closet as long as I stay in this house.

I can't tell my parents that I think it's ok when people are gay. I can't tell my parents that I am pro-choice. I can't tell them that I'd like to not eat meat very much (i never told them I wasn't eating meat last year- I would even eat it whenever I came home to please them, and went back to omnivorism when I moved home.) I can't tell them that I'm sexually active and would like to see a gynecologist yearly. I can't tell them that I may not want to ever get married, but instead have an unmarried cohabitational relationship with my boyfriend. I can't tell them that if I do get married, I want a Jewish wedding (see an earlier post to read my parents' projected reaction to this). I can't tell them that I, someday, want to raise a Jewish family. I can't tell them I no longer relate to the Catholic faith. I can't tell them that going to church makes me feel angry, like I'm doing something that feels unnatural and forced. It's so extreme that I sometimes feel that when I cut my hair short again, my family's going to hate it, and I'm going to hate it a little too, even though I feel like having long hair is not me at all.

I sometimes crack jokes about my strained relationships with my family, but honestly, I know how serious this is. How the hell am I going to have a family someday if my relationship with my family is so tumultuous? I have this idealism of what I want my family to be like someday, but I can't help but having this fear I'm going to birth children who'll be closeted Republican Christians, and someday they'll be sitting at the kitchen table completely silent as I talk about their views as close-minded and antiquated. They'll hide in their rooms reading the gospels, and feel ashamed for saving their virginity for marriage, and I'll be repeating this terrible process all over again.

I just want all of us to be happy; I want to be who my parents want me to be, but I want to be myself. But when I can't come out to my parents, and in turn, internalize my feelings, my identity, and most of my life, I just feel like I've officially hit the point where I now know I can't have it all.

Everyone who knows me outside of home knows me as this person who doesn't give a fuck about what people think about me. It's all a lie. I'm a fucking coward, and I just don't feel like myself anymore. I don't know what to do.

Free to be you and me? Fat chance.

2011-01-19T18:02:00.001-08:00

I don’t know if anyone has told you this but...

I’m weird.

Like, really weird. If there has been something in my life that has been consistent these past 22 and 7 months, I have always marched to my own beat. I think that’s ok. I mean, I can still hold a couple of jobs and sometimes act like a normal person... sometimes. I do a good enough job at work to fool the soccer moms into thinking I’m a sweet, fashion minded young lady for them to give me their money and trust their opinions, so that ought to be a plus, right?

Anywho... I’m sure anyone who’s been following me on facebook knows the frustration I have been dealing with as of lately. But I don’t like living at home with my parents. Not one bit. The minute I get a call from grad school or a full time job with benefits and enough money to pay rent in a crappy apartment in a skeezy section of Philly somewhere, I’m out of here. I know what everyone must be thinking: “God, Chrissy, you’re such a brat. You have parents that pay for your entire life, and all you do it complain.” Trust me, I’ve been thinking it too. But seriously, trading in your freedom to be who you are and say what you want to say so that you’re entitled to steal your parents money is the worst trade off ever. I now have to do things that I haven’t had to do in years- I have to go to church, call my parents and let them know when I’m coming home, eat really shitty food (my mom made canned Progressive Italian Minestrone for dinner, which in my book does not qualify as real food), and oh yeah, I have to pretend I’m a squeaky-clean Virgin Mary wannabe who has never said the words, “Fuck, Shit”, and “Hell”, and sometimes, even “sucks” (No seriously, I actually got in trouble for uttering the phrase, “This sucks” the other day. The truth is, I actually use all these words quite frequently on a daily basis; sometimes all in the same sentence). I also shouldn’t know what sex is, nor should I ever have had it (wink wink...).

In short, I’m supposed to be something that I’m not, and in turn, it is making me into a whiney, ungrateful, moody-ass bitch. I love my parents, I really do. They’re great, and they’re wonderful for supporting me, and I’m fortunate to have parents who are this cool to take me back after college and help me until I can help myself. But I really hate that, you know? I’m supposed to be 22 years old here- there are kids my age who have real jobs, who live with their boyfriends. Hell, there are people my age getting married. Not that I want to get married right now (or ever), and I know I’m rambling (I’m very distraught), but the point I’m trying to make here is this:

Financial security is great until you realize that your entire lifestyle and values are not preferable in the eyes of your providers. And that’s where the trouble begins and never seems to end.

I’m the kind of person who longs to be independent- I would like to keep my own ideas, live in my own place, live by my rules. I’ve never done anything to please anyone except for myself (and my mom, when she gets pissed off). I strongly believe that everything I earn in life should be attained by my own merits, and I try to use my connections as little as possible. I also stay true to myself at all times- I hate being someone I’m not. It makes me crazy. I want to work hard for everything I have, because if i don’t, I feel like I don’t deserve it. As for competitiveness, I only competed in stuff I knew i could be good at- music and theater. School was something I just needed to pass and get out of. However, since I’m Asian though, having a 3.5 is my idea of getting by, which makes me an average, below-average Asian student.

Enter Mary, my older sister. Mary... is the opposite of me. Sort of. Mary loves to be the best at everything- she was very competitive in high school sports and near the top of her class, and while she never made it to number 1, she easily won the suck-up contest, hands down. In fact, she was voted the “Teacher’s Pet” her senior year (the picture is in the Becahi Sceptre 2004.) Anywho, Mary is the type of person who be exactly who you want her to be in order to get what she wants, whether she’s looking for a medical residency or a new boyfriend. She studying to be a doctor (which was a lifelong dream of mine until I realized that I hated chemistry and never wanted to study it again), which she has said several times, in more of less words, that this career path should help her to graduate with her MRS, which is much more important than her DO. Mary’s career climbing is hoping to achieve her ultimate goal (and, according to her, the final goal for most women): married to a highly paid doctor who will be able to protect and provide for her and her future children forever and ever. That’s a good goal. No judgement. (That’s a lie. Of course I’m judging. But hey, she can do whatever she wants. That’s not my life, and if it all pans out for her, I’ll be happy for her as long as I don’t have to wear a hideous dress in the wedding.)

You can imagine how two people this different can butt heads. Or maybe you can’t- we’ve had an extremely tumultuous relationship. This week’s episode, however, started over a simple dinner conversation. Quite honestly, I don’t even remember how we got onto the subject- we were probably talking about weddings (Mary likes to talk about weddings. So do I- but it’s kinda a closeted thing of mine. And I only like to talk about tacky wedding ideas, mostly to scare my boyfriend.) Somehow, we got onto the conversation of downtown Bethlehem... I was in town on tuesday morning to meet boyfriend for breakfast. I mentioned how there’s now a Melting Pot on Broad (which i’m completely against- Bethlehem’s not supposed to be “nice”, hahaha...) Mary said something like, “You should have Dan take you there. It’s so good.” I think I responded with something along the lines of, “Dan doesn’t take me out. We go out.”

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is when the shit hit the fan. My mom and sister both gave me looks as if I had killed someone in the middle of our kitchen. I was now being berated by all sides, being fed lines like, “The role of the man is to protect you and provide for you”, “That’s homosexual if he doesn’t pay for your dinner”, “My boyfriend always pays for everything single thing”, “Your father paid for every single date”, “Traditionally, that’s the role of the man. He pays for everything.” “You drove all that way to have to pay for own breakfast? That’s wrong.” “I would like to be provided for and not have to work.” (There aren’t enough words to describe how much I disagree with this one; i didn’t go to college for nothing.)

None of my ideas proved to hold any weight against the great matriarchal tradition of women being wined and dined, showered with diamonds and gifts, in exchange for bearing children, an act that some women will hold over men for the rest of their long “happy” lives together (“I HAD YOUR BABIES AND SACRIFICED MY BODY FOR YOU. NOW BUY ME STUFF AND PUT UP WITH MY PETTY BULLSHIT FOREVER.”) “I believe in having an egalitarian relationship”, I pleaded. “When I can’t afford to pay, Dan foots the bill. But when I can, I like to.” “Why should he pay for everything? This is our relationship. We are equals.” “We are not a woman and man. We are two people. We have no societally preconceived gender roles. Two people who agree to split the check on dinner.” Eventually, I snapped. I’m always the first one to snap. I’m crazy, remember?

“Ok, Mary. Show me the book where it says the man must pay for everything. Where is this written down?!”

Well, she couldn’t give me a title, page number, or Dewey Decimal number. Didn’t stop her from retorting with a “That’s just the way it’s always been.”

I had enough by the end of this conversation. Apparently, my relationship is less legitimate because it’s not traditional. Apparently, my boyfriend is a homosexual for not having money growing on trees. And it really disappoints me that my values and relationship are consistently undervalued and scrutinized by my family.

Remember how I said (scroll up) that I don’t do anything to please anyone but me? Well, i don’t. Contrary to what several people believe, however, I do care sometimes about what people think about me. What kind of child doesn’t want to please their family? But at the same time, when you happen to be different by no fault of your own, just like people who happen to be normal turn out that way by chance, it makes it really hard to legitimize who I am and who my family wants me to be.

I like who I am, but it becomes very difficult to do that when those around me aren’t very supportive. Is it asking to much to be who I am, and to be accepted by my family? I think it probably is.

Why you shouldn't bully people. Ever.

2010-10-18T09:22:00.000-07:00

It's been a sad month in the news. Five students, ranging from the ages 13 to 20 years old, took their own lives. All of these kids, many of which were still children, were all homosexual, and all were brutally bullied by their peers.

What the fuck? like, seriously, WHAT THE FUCK?!

And this is only the tip of the iceberg. There are thousands of other students across America who are either contemplating or have committed suicide because of teasing at school by peers who have no compassion, and their cries are ignored by school administration.

How do I know this?

Because I know how it feels to be bullied. Starting in the 3rd grade and finally ending in the 8th grade when I graduated and started high school 20 miles away from home, where nobody knew me, I was regularly made fun of and mocked by my relentlessly cruel peers.

I may not be gay, but the kids at my parochial Catholic school found plenty of other points of interest at which to peck like hungry vultures. I hail from a predominantly white area, and was one of the only children of color in the entire school (and I'm still half white.) My family was much stricter than most kids- I wasn't allowed to watch television on any school night, was restricted from watching rated PG-13 movies, most cartoons on Nickelodeon, MTV (which my mom was VEHEMENTLY against), the sitcom "Roseanne", and pretty much anything that wasn't either on Cartoon Network or the Disney Channel. We also didn't have access to radios (and no allowance to buy tapes and CDs), so we didn't listen to any pop music whatsoever. My family was very religious, and many of the kids at school poked fun at me for that, referring to me as the "holy kid". Instead of being carted away to soccer practice and horseback riding lessons after school, we spent our time on the competitive Irish dancing circuit, and at the Moravian College Music Department, taking piano and violin lessons from the college professors there. When it was first noticed that I had a talent to sing, the kids began to scoff at me, blaming me for being a show off and kiss up. I soon began to loathe my ability to sing because all it did was make the other kids hate me, and tried to avoid associating myself from singing as much as I could.

As I got older, more reasons to bully me slowly popped up. Soon, children became aware of economic status and how much money their families had. The children at my school then began to ostracize me because my dad had a respectable career as a physician- and made very good money. It was in vogue to be "poor" (or what they thought was poor- these were 10 year old girls, mind you), and many of the girls at school would brag about how poor they were- "My parents kill cows to pay our school tuition!", "My entire extended family chipped in to buy me my American girl doll!" I looked nothing like my blonde, blue-eyed, straight haired, white classmates- I was slightly tan, had a frizzy head of hair, and leg muscles the size of most high school running backs, and because of my unconventional (i prefer the term "non-generic") looks, the boys thought i was unattractive. There was a boy who I remember, quite vividly at snack time in the 4th or 5th grade, who said to me, "I'm giving out pieces of my fruit rollup to all the girls who are pretty." He kind of looked at me awkwardly, as I waited for my piece of fruit rollup. It took me a whole 30 seconds to realize he wasn't going to give me a piece. i walked back to my desk, dejected. I was only 10 or 11 years old.

During the same year, I remember being in a bathroom stall when I heard someone in the class below me talking about me- "I hate that Chrissy McHugh girl." I finished peeing, got out the stall, looked at her, and said, "What?", as if I had just heard my name in passing and wanted to see what she said. She looked away. I was so confused. I don't think I had talked to her EVER in my entire life. Why would she hate me? What the hell did I do to her to make her hate me?

Puberty makes things awkward, but it makes things even more awkward if you have no peers to discuss it with. When my 11 and 12 year old classmates were getting their first boyfriends, I was still playing with dolls and teddy bears with my younger sister, and I most likely still believed in Santa Claus. My classmates thought that because I was still a "child" (I was 12 years old, for Christsakes!), they could use my innocence as another targeting point for victimizing me once again. So not only was I a confused, awkward, completely ignorant to the birds and the bees teenager, I was now going to be bullied for that too. There was a conversation I had with two people at a 13th birthday party that went something like this:

Fucktard 1: "Yeah, then he hit his cock on the thing! It was so funny!"
Me: "Um... what's a cock?"
Fucktard 2: "What? You don't know what that means?"
Me: "No... i don't."
Fucktard 2: "Well, try and guess if it's a guy's or a girl's."
Me: "A guy or a girl's what?"
Both Fucktards: "HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHA"

7th grade was particularly hard. It's the year where you get the most crap from the eighth graders, and for some reason, I got it especially bad. I had a 5 minute busride to and from school, and as I was getting off the bus one day, I saw, our of the corner of my eye, an eighth grader named John lean over towards me, and I heard him make a spitting noise. I walked a couple of seats forward, and and asked this bitchy 5th grader, named Rebecca, to look to see if there was anything in my hair. "EWWWWWWWWW" she shrieked, as the entire bus laughed at me. I walked faster than I ever had in my entire life, a quarter mile all the way home, threw open the door, ran straight up to my mom, and said, "SOMEONE SPIT IN MY HAIR ON THE BUS!" She examined my hair, "Chrissy, I don't see anything. There's nothing in your hair," she said.

"NO. NO. NO. NO. NO," was running through my mind as my blood began to boil. I finally had physical proof that these children were ruining my life, and his bacteria laden saliva had dried up by the time I had gotten home. I went straight to my room and cried for the rest of the night.

During a spring morning later that year, a girl in my class talking with one of my only friends about me before our morning prayers. I knew they were saying something about me. "What are you guys talking about it?" I asked. "Oh... tell you later." my friend said, "It's not about you." "Idiots. Of course it's about me", I thought, "or else you would have just told me." Later that day, I remember going to sign someone's y aear book. I fliped through the pages, trying to find somewhere to sign, when I saw it: one unflattering picture of me that one of the eighth graders likely added to book to humiliate me, and someone had drawn a mustache and devil horns on top of my picture along with an arrow pointing to it with this accompanying message:

"REMEMBER THIS LOSER!!!!!!"

It was around this time my very angry mother decided to take action. Sick of me coming home and crying on most days, she went straight to the principal and said, "You need to do something about this. NOW." For the rest of my time at school, if anyone even said my name out loud, they were written up. And the kids teased me behind my back for that too.

By the time my run at this lovely Catholic school was finished, I was beat. I couldn't open my mouth without saying anything bad about myself. So the kids teased me for that too. "You're so self deprecating, it's so annoying", i remember a girl (who wasn't even popular, who was an outsider) saying to me. "My God", i thought, "will it ever stop?"

I want to write about eighth grade, but honestly, I'm exhausted. you can ask me some other time if you want, but I don't even want to think about that year.

The worst part about the school was that i wasn't the only victim. A friend of mine the class below mine who was also shunned for being different (and she was much more mainstream and normal than me) transferred to public school. There was even a black girl (the only one in the school) who left after the second grade, after kids bullied her at recess time for being black and adopted.

It was times like this that a little voice would creep into the back of your head. It would say things like, "No one loves you. You have no friends. No one notices you. You're better off dead. Make them sorry they didn't treat you better. Make them sorry for what they did. You can have the power, you can get them to see you, if you make them sorry."

There were times I wanted to listen to that voice. I'm glad I never did.

It gets better. You go to a different school where there are people who are weird like you too. You get through your awkward puberty phase and become a beautiful woman. People notice your talents and reward you instead of make you feel like shit for them.

But did it ever go through these kids minds that maybe I wouldn't have been so weird if they had gotten to know me? Maybe i wouldn't be so self deprecating if they were nice to me? Maybe I would know things about sex, music, TV shows, and movies if they had shared them with me instead of poking fun of me for being ignorant.

A lot of people blame these suicides on the children- they were unstable, blah blah blah. That's shit. When you're attacked for the mere state of being you, you can't ever be stable when people are constantly firing at your foundation. Maybe we would be stable if we weren't made to feel so uncomfortable for being who we are, because it's hard to want to be yourself when it seems like everyone is finding you completely intolerable.

Don't bully people. Ever. Because when they take some sort of life altering drastic action, it IS your fault. There's no other way around it.

And to my bullies, if you happen to stumble upon this- Fuck all of you. I'm intelligent, an incredible musician, I'm in a fantastic relationship, and I'm going to a conservatory next fall. I am Somebody. Who the hell are you?

And this week, Chrissy's money is going to...

2010-09-24T15:01:00.000-07:00

nope, I'm not going to give this one up quite yet. I've actually been waiting all week, feeling pretty excited, and trying to decide where my $20 is going go. I think I have made a decision....

This is kind of a gruesome topic... sort of. I'm sure everyone has seen the menstrual pad or tampon commercials (I can't remember which one) that shows the girls in Africa and talks about how because they don't have access to sanitary napkins, they actually have to miss 20% of their education. In developing nations like those in Africa, that's a huge chunk of their schooling. It doesn't really seem like much to us, since we have established schools and a pretty well developed school system, but to these girls in Africa whose countries are only just discovering the power of education this a huge deal. Part of these nations becoming developed and working against poverty and violence is advocacy through education; these girls have to go to school!

I ran into this issue this week through another pressing problem: menstrual supplies and the environment. Did you know that 20 billion pads, tampons, and applicators are sent to American and Canadian landfills each year? Each one of these pads, tampons, and applicators will take hundreds of years to biodegrade, especially when they're wrapped in the little plastic baggies that they're provided with. Disposables are also usually bleached and contain a whole host of chemicals that aren't good for you. I decided to take control of my own situation by buying a set of cloth pads. Yes.... they were expensive. They're going to save me money in the long run, however, and they'll allow me to be one less woman to pollute the earth.

LunaPads, the company who I bought my reusable cloth pads from, has a charity set up called Pads4Girls. Not only do they provide girls with the supplies they need to stay in school, they do so in a sustainable manner. Many of these communities don't even have landfills or incinerators to put disposables, which is why this organization is so great. You can read more about Pads4Girls on LunaPads' website.

Taken from the Pads4Girls page, Here are the communities currently being served by Pads4Girls:

And this week, Chrissy's money goes to....

2010-09-17T10:31:00.000-07:00

While living in West Chester, I probably consumed approximately $20 in alcohol every week. Ok, so if you go to the liquor store, that equates to a bottle of rum a week, but I can assure you it wasn't like that at all... You see, for those of you underage are at a huge advantage when it comes to drinking. Not only is about 80% of your alcohol provided for you at parties (either by paying a low price cover or attending a BYO party and mooching off everyone else), there is also a 500% markup on drinks at bars (don't quote me on that... but 500% seems right to me, as someone paying for these, lol). I would usually buy an appletini from Pietro's Prime while watching the amazingly talented John Grecia perform on Wednesday evenings (if you're a West Chester local, I highly suggest going- it's mind blowing). Do you know how much that appletini cost? That appletini in its 80% vodka, 20% apple liqueur with its tasty cinnamon-sugar rim, and its powers to single-handedly slur my speech in approximately 20 minutes?

$11.50, plus a $1.50 tip. So it was thirteen bucks per drink at this place. I mean, I only ever had one before switching to vodka cranberries for the rest of the night (which came up to about $7, with tip). So I was easily throwing away about $20 a week for my alcohol fix on Wednesday evenings. If anyone knows me well, they know I never have money. My dad's a doctor, so I never had to work through school until now (because if I didn't, I'd not only be broke, but also very bored), but at the same time, I never really had any money of my own either. So to spend twenty dollars a week on drinks and only doing a gig once every 4 months, and trying to sustain myself off the 20 bucks my mom would give me every other week.... Well, let's just say I should have spent that money on other, more important things.

Now I've moved home and I've almost nearly quit drinking. It costs money, there are no bars around here, plus I don't know anyone around here to drink with anyway, so what fun is there in that? That's when a fun idea popped into my head-

"Chrissy, you should take that money you used to spend drinking and donate it toward something."

I don't have good ideas very often. This is one of my good ideas. I thought to myself, "Instead of getting completely zonked out and usually end up as the crying sad drunk by the end of the evening, I should do something positive for myself and for the world."

I've always believed in giving money. Unlike my dad, who is annoyed when people at the checkout at the grocery ask him if he wants to donate money to the soup kitchens or food pantry or whatever, I also elect to give that extra dollar. Why? Because the world is unpredictable, and you'll never know if you will someday need assistance from these services. What if a freak flood strikes Kintnersville, PA, and suddenly my family and I are homeless? Who's going to feed us? Oh, that food pantry that Giant was raising money for! And it comes back to us in the very end! And even if we never end up being fed by that one dollar we donated 10 years earlier at a Giant supermarket in Hellertown, PA, I'll know someone else did benefit from my one dollar, and that'll make me happy. Call it socialist or what have you, but I'm happy I can spend the little money I'm making from my retail job and help someone else out. Maybe somewhere along the line someone will return the favor, and even if they don't, helping people is always nice.

So I have decided that every week on Friday, I will donate $20 to a cause of my choosing. While you may not agree with the causes I support, they are personally significant to me. I'll write about each one every week, and maybe you'll be inspired to even do some giving of your own!!

In light of the 9th anniversary of 9/11/2001, I have donated $20 to the Flight 93 memorial fund. As many of you know, Flight 93 was the last plane to leave the east coast. After being hijacked by the extremist terrorists, many of the passengers on the flight knew what was going on. These heroes worked together to bring the plane down, sacrificing their lives to save many more from being killed when the plane hit its unknown target. The people trying to build this memorial have been jumping through hoops and red tape to build a monument to these heroes, many of whom were family and friends to the people leading this cause. They are currently trying to raise $30 million dollars to erect a monument, that will hopefully be dedicated a year from now, on September 11th, 2011, 10 years since this tragic day in US history. It's my hope that these 40 will rest in peace, and never be forgotten for what they did.

Are our emotions more physical than we think?

2010-09-02T12:01:00.000-07:00

Lately, I've been attempting to come to terms with my past in order to create a future for myself. Let me elaborate; in my life, I've been burned by bad auditions and even worse performing experiences in my professional life, and I have some pretty deep emotional scars from my past relationships with friends and family alike.

I never realized this until recently, but emotions are these invisible feelings we all have that don't exist to others (or sometimes ourselves) until we speak out loud about them. And when we finally do speak up about our emotions, we speak about them like they are corporeal: for example, when someone says something that makes us upset, we might say "They hurt our feelings." Hurt feelings. Hurt invisible, immaterial emotions no one knows you have but you.

But phrases like this pepper our language every day. "I was pretty burned in my last relationship." "That lecture really lifted my spirits." "Walking in my parents doing the nasty scarred me for life." The list goes on.

So here's today's question: because our emotions have no physical entity, only possible physical responses, is there any point feeling like or talking about them as if they have some sort of physical presence? Do we all have a spiritual body that can be bruised, scarred, beaten, burned, healed, uplifted, energized, or deflated?

The nervous system of the human body works on a system of stimuli and responses. When a person touches a hot tea kettle with a bare hand, the nerves in the hand send a message to the brain that says "OMFG THAT'S HOT." The body responds by pulling away the hand, or my personal response, which is pulling away the hand, shaking it extremely hard, and screaming. When you sprain a joint, it usually hurts when you turn bend or turn it a certain away- that's your body's way of saying "Don't move me here. I'm injured." Our bodies have been trained to react a certain way in response to these stimuli- squint when the sun is bright, flinch when something is flying towards you, pull back if you get pricked, hop on one foot when your other one has been stepped on, grimace when you eat something bitter... this list goes on and on as well.

And these reactions are perfectly warranted and considered normal. If you burn your hand on the tea kettle, no one says "Man up, grab that thing with your bare hands and bring it over here", they say "No, idiot. Use a pot holder." But when we react to an emotional stimulus, we're told the opposite. If you've been burned by a bad experience, there are no pot holders to put on to decrease the transfer of specific heat between the bad experience and your psyche. In this situation, we're told to man up and grab it with our bare hands and carry that hot kettle around until we don't feel it anymore, which never happens. If we have an experience that leaves a bad taste in our mouths, we're told to swallow it whole or pretend it doesn't taste that way. If we have an emotional sprain or strain, instead of ICE- ice, compression, and elevation, like we would with an injured joint, we're told to essentially walk it off, keep bending it in that direction that makes you howl in pain until you get through it. Whatever that means. It's no wonder we're left with scars- none of us ever are told to stop scratching at the scab and let it heal.

In a world where we're supposed to neutralize all our emotional stimuli, are we not giving certain situations the right response? Are we supposed to work through the pain, or is the pain telling us not to bother? Better yet, when we forgive and forget our own and others' wrong doings, are we really preventing ourselves from making the same mistakes? If we convince ourselves that an experience with a person wasn't all that bad, and forgive them for the bitterness we experience during the relationship, is that really helpful? Don't we need the memory of that bad taste to prevent ourselves from taking another bite?

Instead of working through an issue, maybe these emotional stimuli are trying to tell us when we need to give it a rest, leave it alone, and allow ourselves to heal, instead of further aggravating our emotional wounds.

I'm sure you're probably asking "Well, if you do that, how do you grow a thick skin?", using another physical analogy to describe emotions. Well, I have a true story about one man's body to illustrate my point. A Polish man was suffering from headaches recently. Upon going to the doctor, his head was x-rayed, and it turns out that he has had a bullet lodged in his skull for five years. So you can grow a thick skin over top of it, but it won't change the fact that you were shot in the head, and there will still be a bullet in your head that will affect the way you feel.

Here's a URL to the news story, in case you don't believe me- http://www.cbsnews.com/stories/2010/08/25/ap/strange/main6804460.shtml. Cheers.

-c

What is the secret to a great audition?

2010-08-07T20:42:00.000-07:00

I will take a quick break from my usual questioning and naysaying to bring you something a little more humorous.

This will be the first time in 4 years I will not be taking part in the WCU Ensemble Placement Auditions. And thank God for that. Usually auditions for me at pretty nightmarish, ending with a box of tissues, a bottle of wine, and a bucket of fried chicken. I get bad audition-fright, where i step in the room, and suddenly everything in my head freaks completely out and I freeze up. When I finally loosen up a little, I usually sound like crap, and then I get placed low, then wine and fried chicken ensues....

After 4 years, one would think I would have figured it out by now. False. Blind auditions are still the woe of me. But let me give you my list of tips and my philosophy behind it, and perhaps my little wisdom will help you all next week.

The Fundamental Truths of Auditions

1.) You will never be prepared enough. All that practicing you can cram in between now and then? Yup, it's not enough. So this is the point where you ask yourself whether you will try to feel better prepared or choose not to prepare at all. Choose wisely, young grasshopper.
2.) As with everything else, I believe auditioning is a spiritual experience, and one that is predetermined by fate (or... by the auditioners hahaha). Your outcome may be already decided by the universe, but there are little actions you can do to improve your spiritual consciousness and create an auditioning environment more suited to a top performance.

So how can you improve your spiritual consciousness and audition environment?

A great start is the way you dress. Many people do not think about what they wear to an audition. Especially with these blind auditions, you could really wear anything you like- hell, you could be naked, and they'd never know. Wear whatever you're most comfortable in, but there is one article of clothing that holds a great deal of power. Wearing the wrong kind of this could severely impact your comfort, creating a negative aura, and thus ruining your audition.

Yes, I'm talking about your underwear. The secret to a great audition is a pair of comfortable underwear.

No, seriously. I always believe that the tell tale sign to a good day is how comfortable your underwear are. If they're nice and comfy and stay put, then awesome, have a great day! If they're too big, too small, ride up, fall down, it's like walking around all day with a rain cloud above your head. A pair of ill-fitting underwear is such an intense force of negative energy- a force you don't need during your audition.

So, how do you prevent such a travesty from happening? The key is finding that magic pair, the one that makes you feel like a million bucks. We all have it. Don't lie. You have that pair. They're the first pair you grab for after you put away your clean laundry. When you put off doing the wash for 2 weeks, you wait every day in anticipation to wear them again. It's the magic underwear, the pair that make you feel like everything in the world is right and good, and nothing can go wrong.

On the other side, we all have that evil pair of underwear. The one we let sit at the bottom of our underwear drawer until every other pair has been tossed into the laundry basket. The pair that says, "It's time to do your laundry, because you waited so long you have no choice but to wear me." That underwear is completely bewitched with dark energy that will make you feel like crap, and then you'll crap all over your audition.

To prevent yourself from wearing dark side panties the day of your audition, make sure you change your laundry schedule now. Do your laundry the night before auditions, to make sure that perfect pair is squeaky clean and all set to go the next day.

You can wear whatever you want, but bitch please, it's all about the undies.

Good luck friends. And keep on top of your laundry.

Is love enough?

2010-07-29T22:13:00.000-07:00

Is it enough for two people to love each other? Is love enough to conquer differences, loneliness, sadness, distance, and fear?

I left Pennsylvania a cynic. I returned a romantic.

So is love enough?

Yes. It is.

Can you not love what you do?

2010-07-14T08:22:00.000-07:00

At the behest of a reader, i was asked to write about playing the flute.

I play the flute. a lot. Too much sometimes. I try to practice at least 3 hours a day. I average around 4, sometimes squeezing in that 5th hour if i'm feeling up for it, and I'm trying to work up an endurance so I can eventually be practicing 6 hours a day. Sound a little insane? Not to me. I'm putting on my senior recital come this fall, doing a major competition in november, and then auditioning for graduate school in the Winter, so needless to say, I'm really quite worried about my future. I'm thinking about graduate school constantly, because if I don't get into a school of my choice with a generous financial package and enough loans to pay for rent and food, it looks like I'm either stuck at my parent's for another year of practicing and auditioning, or it would be time to find a career doing something else.

My dream is to play- the problem is that I'm only successful as a soloist. My orchestra playing is really sub-par, thanks to my inability to count rests and rhythms, and my auditioning skills are far worse. I suppose i could- and would enjoy- teaching privately. But in this economy where parents are pulling their children out of piano lessons, and living in a country where afternoon soccer practice trumps all other priorities, how much of a future could i possibly have as a private teacher?

My sister asked me the other day "Why didn't you do voice in college?" good question. I have a pretty innate musical sense that allows me to sing quite well- and I only had 1 semester of half hour lessons (with a fantastic teacher, nonetheless). There are a couple reasons why I chose not to sing as my vocation. First of all, I know how to sing (at least I think so.) I sing pretty well, and I'm not really all that into singing classically anyway, so why would I embark on a 4 year program to learn how to sing classically, if it's not really "my jam"? The second reason is my love for singing. I would like to keep loving singing. I feel that if I suddenly had to rely on something I love to be my breadwinner, I would end up resenting it if my abilities don't earn me the accolades and livelihood that I would prefer.

So instead, I decided to play the flute. I only had 2 years of formal lessons before going to college, and while i was in love with singing, I enjoyed playing the flute. It was ok. I was ok at it. So i'll do that, I thought to myself, as I was choosing which direction I would go when I attended college.

Here's why i sort of find a problem with this reasoning: I don't choose men because I like them a lot, they're safe, and if they left me one day, I wouldn't be too sad about it. I'm in a relationship with a guy that I'm incredibly crazy about, that I love so much that I cannot stand the moments we are apart, and I'm hoping that someday, I will place my future happiness in his hands. That doesn't scare me at all. But for some reason, I'm choosing a career that I kinda like, that's I'm only ok at, and if I somehow got into a freak accident and my left pinky was severed off, it wouldn't break my heart if I was to never play the flute ever again.

Maybe I have commitment issues when it comes to my flute. Like most people who stop themselves in a relationship with a person because they're afraid to get too emotionally involved, they fear the stakes are too high, or they're scared they may end up getting hurt, I have somehow formed a similar relationship with a $6,000 tube of solid silver. I have let my relationship with flute, and in turn, making music, become of the "just friends" variety out of my fear of not being successful, and now I feel that my fears are getting in the way of the music I'm trying to make. Instead of approaching playing as an art and using my feelings to convey what's on the page, I'm learning music in a business-like manner, trying to get it done as quickly and painlessly as possible. Here's a good analogy: instead of making love in a heartfelt way in my relationship, I'm basically fucking as much as possible to increase my chances of procreation. And that's not very satisfying.

I suppose it's time to stop being such a baby and really start a commitment with the flute. I don't think I have any chance of being successful unless I take down the wall I have put between myself and making music, dive head first in, and see where it takes me.

Will it be "'til death do us part"? Stay tuned...

Why do I write?

2010-07-08T22:17:00.000-07:00

Good question. Why do I write? Weblogs are strange; in order to have one that is successful, you have to break news people otherwise may not hear, become an expert in a topic and write consistently about it, be a celebrity announcing your latest news in your life, have some pretty awesome pictures, or just have a lot of friends that are interested in what you write.

I have none of the above.

What goes into a successful weblog? According to Seth Godin's blog , pretty much anything can get traffic to your blog. Unfortunately, everything I happen to write about seems to fall through the cracks (although I'm writing about blogging today, which is number 38 on his list), and because most of my friends are not members on blogspot, no one can really comment on my musings about life.

I like to think that I write thought provoking posts about issues I find in my life that may be relevant to other people. I like to think about issues that lots of people think about, but are very unwilling to mention out loud or in public. Being a 22 year old almost-college-graduate, I believe that many other people are suffering the same identity crisis I am; in fact, I believe anyone who is alive is likely walking around, asking themselves the same questions I do: Who am I?, and What am supposed to do now?

So if I am well aware that most people are too uncomfortable to even think about the topics I wrote about, why do I write about them? One of the strangest characteristics about myself is the fact that I don't mind being vulnerable. From the girl who hasn't been without a boyfriend for a period of more than 8 months for the past 9 years (that's right... since the age 13), I'd have to say that being a bearer of this trait is actually really great. It gives me the ability to really bleed emotionally when I'm on stage. Hell, it gives me the ability get up on stage in the first place. It allows me to be extremely honest and upfront in my relationships, both platonic and romantic. As an eccentric being, I have no choice but to be me or go home on most days, and being as strange as I am takes a lot of bravery. I have no fear when it comes to thinking about and sharing how I feel, unless I know someone will get hurt by what I may say. In that case, I will gladly keep my big mouth shut, but I've been known to slip.

I don't suggest for everyone to be like me. Does the world need another Chrissy McHugh? Absolutely not. If all my friends walked around as I did, constantly gushing about how they feel, and bringing up conversation topics that are potentially frightening to even imagine, but likely taboo, uncomfortable, and too thought provoking, I would probably lock myself in my room and never talk to them again. That's a really shitty double standard, but hey, that's why I have these friends- because they're different than I am, they're willing to chime in the conversation with me occasionally, and because they know when to shut me up.

What I do encourage, however, is for people to think about who they are and what they are doing. I don't think anyone, including myself, does this enough. For example, I just ate a piece of pizza hut pizza. Did I really think about it? No. Because if I did, I probably wouldn't have eaten it. For starters I'm pretty cozy here in my bed to get up for a greasy snack. Secondly, I don't need anymore calories, especially at this time at night. And third, Come on, it's Pizza Hut pizza! It's really not that tasty!!

I find it ironic that one of the item's on Seth's list was "Become an expert in your topic". I don't tend to write about things I do know. I named my blog "Questions" for a reason. I'd rather mull over things I don't know, and let people come up with their own creative answer to similar questions they may be asking themselves.

Today may be the first day I have an answer to my topic question. Why do I write?

I write because I like to write, and I like to believe that people sometimes want to read.

Well, that was easy. If I could answer every question on my blog that easily, I would have absolutely nothing to write about, let alone say.

Why am I really afraid of getting married?

2010-07-06T12:54:00.001-07:00

i attended a beautiful wedding this weekend. Despite the 100 degree weather (and my deodorant clearly NOT working.... yuck...), the service was absolutely beautiful. Never have I been brought to tears by a wedding service. And i've been to several weddings in my time, as a member of a very large family. Maybe it's because I haven't been old enough to understand until now, or what, but usually when i go to a wedding, I kind of try and get through the ceremony so we can get to the big party afterward. I'd have to say, however, that the ceremony was the greatest part of the wedding- and that's the way it should be, right?

When I was seven years old, I traveled with my mom, my brother, and my aunt, uncle, and their children to a wedding in the midwest. My cousin was marrying a Jewish man. This concept was completely foreign to me. I was a little girl who lived in a rural Philadelphia countryside, who had only ever had contact with catholics (in fact, it was always that way until I went to college where i met people that were jews, athiests, wiccan, spiritual, what have you.) So I had never met a Jew before, and I heard my cousin was marrying one, and I was actually very curious to see what this ceremony would be like, and what these oh-so-exotic "Jewish People" where like.

My wish never came true. That day, i put on a pretty pink dress and boarded my mom's mocha 1994 Ford Aerostar with my brother, my cousins, and their parents, and we got so horribly lost that we missed the entire ceremony. It was strange, because we had an idea as to where we were going, but we drove in the same circle, again and again. I remember sitting in the back seat of the car, antsy, and seeing the same street signs over and over, my mom yelling, "We're driving in circles!!"

It was a few years later my mom admitted what happened, or so she claimed. She says she did it on purpose. She didn't want to see "that ceremony". Whether or not she actually did get lost on purpose, or she was ashamed that she had gotten so lost so she made up this excuse, it still is an example of my mom's (and my family's) attitude in regards to their personal convictions and towards the religious views of others.

A few years later, i had another cousin getting married, this time on my father's side of the family. He was to have a Christian service held in a non-catholic church, and my parents discussed the issues at stake in great depth. After being inconslusive as to whether or not it was right for them to attend this ceremony, they decided to write to a priest who was a specialist in these "moral issues", who they had learned about through EWTN, aka, the catholic channel. A couple weeks later, they received a response via post. I remember seeing the letter in my dad's hand, as he read (and I'm paraphrasing here), "The marriage in question, because it will not be officiated by a priest in a roman catholic church under Roman Catholic right, is not considered valid by the Roman Catholic Church, and the man and woman in question are considered living in an adulterous state until they receive the Catholic sacrament of Matrimony." My dad forwarded the letter to his siblings and mother, and in the end, he and my mom made what they thought was the right decision: They only attended the reception, not the ceremony.

And there it is, kids, all the reason in the world I don't want to get married. I may think I can produce a well-thought excuse as to why marriage isn't for me based on feminist thought, but to be honest, this is the real reason. If I am to have the marriage to choose, if i want to have a Jewish ceremony under a chuppah in a courtyard, a secular ceremony featuring stories of our relationship thus far, a Wiccan hand binding ceremony, or even get married by a christian minister on a beach, that sad reality is, unless I fulfill my parent's expectations in marriage according to the Catholic tradition, which I have very little involvement in, my family will most likely not show up at my wedding.

And of course, with that Catholic tradition comes all the other traditions i had mentioned in my last post. While all those things are not Catholic necessarily, occasionally traditions stretch beyond religious beliefs alone and into every aspect of life, including family structure and gender roles. I feel that if I were to get married, this wedding would not be mine- it quickly turn into my family's. They would pick the location, the church, and flowers, the colors, and the guests. They would require me to have the awkward women only bridal shower where my mother will try to give me awkward sex advice and lingerie (because i'm a virgin... right?), and then I will be expected to serve my husband hand and foot until the day I die.

I mean, i have no problem serving someone I love. When I love someone I want to do stuff for them, you know? But it's not a one way street, and I feel the traditional view of marriage is like that. Hell, my family is like that. Mom serves dad dinner, dad leaves dishes on the table until mom clears them away, dad watches movies, mom puts kids to bed, good night, rinse, repeat. I guess it works in the opposite extreme as well- mom buys a ton of stuff, dad pays for it with hard earned money, and repeat.

Sorry, that's not what I want. My ideal relationship is one in which I feel included, but at the same time, completely independent. I want just a marriage where that is implied; i want my relationship to be that way with everyone I know for the rest of my life.

At the wedding I attended last weekend, I felt choked up during the ceremony. First, i was happy for the bride. she looked absolutely beautiful and looked so happy, and their public profession of love, combined with a amalgamation of their histories, cultures, and families was just so heart warming. on the other side, with their happy celebration, I just couldn't help but think of my own future. How my marriage wouldn't bring my family together, it would only further tear us apart. as I saw the parents of the bride and groom hold the tallit, a Jewish prayer shawl, around the two newlyweds, surrounding them with their love, prayers, and wishes, I just imagined how my wedding would look- i would have no parents to hold a tallit for me if i were to marry a jew. They would scoff at the idea of having a wedding that didn't involve Christ and not even show up.

if I were something other than christian and my child wanted a christian wedding, then whatever. They are their own person. i would show up, I would do whatever it is I'm required to do in the ceremony, I would even help pay for it if i had the money, and i would respect their choice, even if I don't like it.

How willing are we to put our religious beliefs above the tangible people in our lives who we love?

Too willing, I believe.

Do I have to get married?

2010-06-28T19:49:00.000-07:00

From a young, marriage is ingrained into a girl's mind as one of the single most important events of her life. As for me, I come from a very large family, which means during my childhood, i attended many weddings of my relatives, and observed that the women in the white dresses were incredibly beautiful, that it was fun to dance with all your cousins, aunts, and uncles, and that everyone was happy. I didn't realize at the time why everyone was so happy (open bar), but they were nonetheless. Therefore, my entire life I have longed for a day where I will don a white dress of my own and march down that aisle to Wagner's Wedding March from Lohengrin in a two step in a church with a high gothic style ceiling to marry a man, also catholic, with dark curly hair and blue eyes.

This and other traditions surrounding the wedding have shaped view on them as well. i remember attending wedding showers with my mom. The happy bride to be would be sitting at a table in the front of the room, surrounded by elaborately wrapped large boxes, all containing tools of domestication- pots and pans, spatulas, blenders, toaster ovens, everything a bride needs to prepare for her new life. At one particular wedding shower, each family was given an index card to write their favorite recipe on, so that the bride could create a catalog of cooking confections that she could prepare for her husband.

Fast forward to now. I am a near-college graduate, independent in every sense of the world except financially of course, and my views on marriage seem to be changing as well. I believe that every woman's marriage-radar goes off like a screaming siren when they turn about 20 years old, and for me that was no exception. As I get closer and closer to 30, the more the message screams in my head "GET MARRIED. GET THE DRESS. HAVE THE PARTY. FIND A HUSBAND BEFORE THEY'RE ALL GONE." And that's saying a lot, because i'm only 22. Hell, even women who don't want to get married are oddly obsessed with it. Before you know it, you're staying home from potential nights out at the bar to watch "Say Yes to the Dress" marathons, and whenever you eat a piece of cake, you think to yourself, "Wow, this is good, i think I'd want this at my wedding!"

Turning 22 appears to be the beginning of the end for womankind's sanity. After most turn 22 they graduate college... and slowly but surely... the single ladies drop like flies to the Wifehood. It always starts out with a couple engagements during the junior of college. Facebook albums completely dedicated to engagement ring pictures. Then the cheesy engagement picture where the couple goes to a picturesque location and takes pictures of themselves kissing each other. Then the wedding shower pictures appear on facebook. I stalk her to see the goodies she got. And then right past the first week of May, when all the college graduations are over, BAM, it starts: Post Graduation wedding season. You watch their statuses as they countdown- "1 week! I can't believe i'll be Mrs. Alan Peters in one week!" "2 more day! I'm so excited!" and then, finally, the "I'M GETTING MARRIED TODAY!" because apparently some brides can find time to update to facebook on what they consider to be the most important day of their lives. The next day, a change of relationship status. Then the picture tags start to appear. I furiously run to their page every time i log-on to make sure I see every new picture that's been tagged. it's a crazy obsession.

and while I love to live vicariously through other people's marriage experiences, and I have no problem with people getting married (more power to you), i can't help but wondering if this great institution is for me. I'm not really a religious person, so I have sex whenever I want. I don't believe there's some magical change that happens after you get a certificate and a white dress that means "ok, you're now ready to do it." All it means is that if that person you've been waiting to do it with really sucks, there's no easy way out of it now.

So if i'm not a religious person and not doing it for those reasons, then i would consider a state wedding. But what is that for? so we can share health insurance? To the state, marriage has very little to do with love; marriage is a mutually agreeable contract for two people to share in certain advantages they wouldn't normally have as single people. Since the state doesn't care about whether I'm in love or not, only that I'm not marrying another woman, i don't really find this option appealing either.

of course, there's the age old women's reasoning "If you're married, you're married, he can't leave you." um, yes he can, and i highly doubt that getting married is going to quell any fears I may have about a husband with a wandering eye. in fact, i think it'll worsen them. And isn't that horrible to think, anyways? It's like, "HAHAHAHA I HAVE YOU NOW. YOU'RE STUCK!" And while lots of woman prefer to have this legally binding contract, by both the government and God, I honestly don't think it's going to change anything if you're afraid of your man behaving poorly. I'd rather trust fully, without any contracts that say "gotcha sucker- can't leave now!"

I hate to put it like this, but what happens to me after marriage? I'm officially a wife. A WIFE. If you enjoy the title, then great, good for you, but after a lot of soul searching and study on religion, marriage, sexuality, and feminism, the last title i want is that of wife, someone who is culturally and socially submissive to her husband. I'm sorry, i'm not buying into any contract that traditionally wants me to submissive- not to my husband, not to anyone unless i'm getting paid! I will not live in a situation where I am not considered equal, and I feel like the traditional roles of "Husband and Wife" are the antithesis of the lifestyle I'm seeking. And while some people go beyond these roles to be equals, i'm afraid i won't be able to ignore what these words meant to the social construct of our society for thousands of years. I'd rather be referred to under different terminology.

I feel as if I don't need a diamond, a white dress, a church ceremony, a lavish reception, or a paper signed by the government that says I want to spend the rest of my life with someone, that I love someone. I don't want to be referred to as "wife" or any other title with historical connotations of subservience. I just want to have my relationship, love my partner, him love me back, have a mutually agreeable relationship where we both work, we both cook, we both clean, both wash dishes, both raise the children. Do i have to get married to do that?

We women have this very "lock 'em down early" sort of method of finding a man. Maybe we don't need a state commitment and a ring and a promise to keep a man down. Maybe relationships fall apart because we don't make the commitment we promise to our spouse on our wedding day every day. We do these things while our entire families are present, we appear in love while dancing at the reception, but for some reason, but when the dress is packed away, the pots and pans are put in their cabinets, and just the two people involved are left with no spectators, no music, and no cake, we seem to fall short of our promises.

My boyfriend and I decided our ideal ceremony, if we ever for any reason felt we needed to get married, would be a courthouse service followed by chinese food and karaoke. I honestly couldn't imagine a better wedding for myself. No, really.

Do relationships have a set series of events?

2010-06-16T20:36:00.000-07:00

"Somebody and So-and-so, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G! First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes the baby in the baby carriage!"

I hope i'm not the only person who remembers these popular childhood rhyme. Used whenever you speculated that two people liked each other, for the sake of embarrassing one or both parties involved, you would use their names and sing this rhyme. It's interesting though, the way it's worded. The process of finding a partner is streamlined into a neat, tidy order- bam, bam, bam, that's the way it goes, that's the way it should be. I feel that most people strive to follow the order set in place by this childhood song. If you don't, it's considered abnormal. Think about it, what if the song went like this?

"Josh and Carol, sitting in a tree, F-U-C-K-I-N-G! First comes the baby in the baby carriage, then comes marriage, then maybe comes love, but it's fleeting and doesn't last! Yeah!"

....yeah, that's not right. But for many people, this is how "it" happeneed. Between these two,, which one do you think makes the most sense in your brain? Obviously the first one. Because when you take its elements and put them out of order, not only does it not conform to a social standard, but the proof is in the wording, for Christsake: When it's out of order, it doesn't even rhyme anymore!

If I were to sing this song about my relationship, it would go something like this:

"Chrissy and Dan, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G, first comes a kiss, then comes doubt, then comes facebook officialness, then comes more doubt, then comes a fight, then comes making up, then comes doubt, then comes another fight, then there comes wanting to work it out, then comes love but no one admits it, then comes a big nasty breakup, then comes not speaking to each other for 2 months, then comes another kiss, then comes not speaking to each other more because of kiss, then comes seeing someone else, then comes dumping them, then comes hooking up, then comes being separated for 5 months, then comes attempting to see someone else but not working out, then comes hooking up... again... then comes a cycle of relationship-like behavior, doubt, not speaking, hook up, times that by 8, then comes big ugly blowout, then comes having no intentions to speak to each other ever again, then comes apologies 5 months later, then comes hooking up... again, then comes a real relationship, then comes admittance to being in love, then comes being separated for 3 months and only seeing each other once, then comes practically living together but still having our own separate places, then comes moving back to our parents houses, then comes being separated for 3 months, both being in places with bad cell phone reception making communicating very difficult, and only seeing each other twice if we're lucky, then comes both of us living at our parent's houses, then comes dan moving to connecticut, then comes me still living at ma and pa's, then comes me hopefully getting into grad school a half hour from dan's connecticut job, but since yale is harder to get into than julliard, probably not........"

and that's where it ends. No neat and tidy order; no marriage or baby carriage in sight; and most importantly, the most recent events are not steps forward. They're steps backwards. We're going from practically living together to not seeing each other even once a week, or once every two weeks, or, hell, once a month. I will not see my boyfriend for the entire month of june, and seeing that this is my birthday month and i'm a brat and i'm supposed to get what i want, i think that really sucks, especially because about 2 weeks ago, we practically lived together!!

so today's question? Can we really do it out of order? i keep calling Dan, crying, telling him that this can never work, that relationships cannot move backwards, and that people cannot expect to become closer in this situation. But, is it really moving backwards? is this period of separation meant to tear us apart or bring us closer? Do relationships have a set series of events, or can we make them up as we go, singing a song that doesn't rhyme anymore?

Is it ok to be different from your family?

2010-06-11T21:20:00.000-07:00

I'm a big fan of Sex and the City. The TV show, that is, not the decent movie made in 2008, and most definitely not the atrocity that is posing as an episode of this fantastic series currently in the theaters (I haven't seen it, and quite frankly, don't have to. From what i have heard, Sex and the City 2 is a mere remnant of what it used to be, and is not at all what the series was all about). As much as she gets on my nerves (especially in seasons 5 and 6), I really do admire the character of Carrie Bradshaw. Think about it: she's a sex columnist. Heck, i haven't even thought about that until right now. She writes about sex in the newspaper. I can't even imagine myself reading a sex column, say, in the Philadelphia Inquirer without thinking to myself "TMI, man." Like seriously? Imagine if someone wrote this:

So, last night, I was going down on this guy, who i will refer to as "SuperDude", when his mom called, except on his caller ID it came up as "Dolly Jacobs", so i walked naked across the room, picked up the phone and told that her not to call back. Superdude then took the phone away, apologized to his mother, handed me my clothes, and asked me to leave. I felt uncomfortable, not because of what i did, rather because i was talking to someone's mother without any clothing on.

Like, did that make you uncomfortable at all? even just a little? And yet, Carrie Bradshaw writes about sex in America, the country that has been pouring 10s of millions of dollars into telling teenagers not to have sex, and she does without any judgment. They never filmed scenes in the show of her opening letters of harassment, telling her that her writing is filled with satan or that she's a slut. It's funny, isn't it? Meanwhile, Samantha Jones, Carrie's nympho friend, faces more discrimination in the public eye because of her many affairs, all of which are not freely posted about in a newspaper article, but rather spread by word of mouth.

The show rarely features the families of these women. i mean, they eventually start their own families, but the families they grew up with are mostly absent. An episode features the funeral of Miranda's mother, and there's another episode about how Samantha screws Charlotte's brother, but besides that, these women apparently were put on earth by God himself at the age of 35, because their childhoods are scarcely discussed. I think it's fun to think about sometimes what Carrie's parents must think about her brand of journalism. Could you imagine it? Carrie has a little mother with a big gray frizzy fro, and she's wearing a pink short sleeved house jacket, a shower cap, and slippers, lives in an assisted living facility in Florida... i can just see her with her walker as she slowly hobbles to her mailbox, inserts and turns the key, pulls out the copy of the New York Star, paid for by her NYC dwelling daughter she only hears from on christmas, flips the pages until she sees her daughter's face, reads the tagline "Your Sexual history: How do you know who infected you?", and just walks straight over to the nearest trash can, pitches it, and then shakes her head in shame.

I have recently moved back in with my parents. I have one more semester left of school, and was supposed to live in West Chester starting last week, but it didn't end up working out... so i have moved home. Eh, they're happy to have me, it's free, it's quiet, the house is big, there's a pool, the kitchen is fantastic, there's only one catch.

I have to pretty much go completely in the closet while here. In what respects, you ask? well, for the past 6 months, i decided to prohibit all animal products from my pantry and be vegan (at home, that is. at restaurants i'm less strict). Now I feel like if i don't take the steak, it's like i'm not fulfilling an expectation that my family has for me. When my dad sits down in our family room and turns fox news on the TV, i usually shut myself in my room instead of spending time with him because fox news makes me want to vomit. I'm a huge proponent of gay rights, women's rights, reproductive rights, the right for teenagers to receive a comprehensive sex education, and a whole bunch of other stuff that completely contradicts my family's conservative Christian values. For me, it's a culture shock to be suddenly thrown into a world where fish is eaten on friday, meat and an instant side dish is eaten the rest of the time, Sarah Palin is who every woman aspires to be, the gays are degenerates, there's a "Choose life" license plate on the car, and fox news channel and EWTN news (the catholic channel) are the two main sources of information in the house.

Maybe I used to believe in several, if not all of these values, but I no longer identify with many of these principles. As much as I like living at home, I hide my books underneath my bed, my tofu in the back of the fridge, and keep my mouth shut. It's just so difficult, because i'm such a politically driven person especially in my choice of conversation, blog posts, personal and artistic choices, and now I'm feeling even more of a disconnect with my family than ever before as I listen to my dad talk about how universal healthcare is bringing socialism to America as I clear his dishes after dinner(as man of the house, my father prefers his dinner to be served to him piping hot, and his dishes to be cleared for him after dinner. If they aren't, they stay on the table until someone takes besides him takes them to the dishwasher. When my mom is working, I'm asked to form my schedule around dinnertime so that someone is home to serve my dad dinner. I know his career as physician is pretty demanding and all... but really? Plesantville, anyone?)

I also now feel more than ever that because I'm not choosing to become a doctor, I don't belong in this family. My overbearing older sister who prefers to always be the center of attention controls most conversations when my family gets together either on vacation or our once-a-week family dinners, and most conversations are spent either talking about her new boyfriend or medicine, as she is studying to become a doctor. And perhaps it's not anyone's fault that I cannot join these conversations- after all, I'm not choosing this life for myself, but it's so disheartening that I will not be able to identify with this career, with this life, and as a consequence of that, with my family. Furthermore, my family will never be able to talk about music. I don't come from a musical family (that is, a serious musical family. Everyone with the exception of my father, everyone was a musician at some point in their lives, but I was the only child who was consistently trained in classical music over the years), and it's so discouraging to know that my family will never be able to have conversations about my work and relate with what I do. That may be the most disappointing aspect of coming home.

Sorry about all the "dis" words. But when you go from living freely to denying everything you believe in to please your family, only such words can be used to describe this situation. While financially I am fortunate to have a father who has a job who can support my various endeavors, I believe it comes with a trade off. I long for financial independence, not to be free from my family, but just to be free to be myself, to have my own place, to buy the food I want to eat, and to have the relationships I want to have.

Don't get me wrong, I love my family. I just want to be comfortable and happy in my own skin, with my own beliefs that happen not be the same as those my parents value. But how can i feel at home when I am different? When I don't conform or agree with the same issues my family does, is it ok to be different from my family? I'm so afraid of what my parents will think of me and my life that while I'm around them I'm someone completely different. My mother wrote in my birthday card about my "quiet and gentle" demeanor. It hit me at that very moment: my own mother has no clue who i am. Quiet and gentle? i don't think so!

I am Chrissy. I am 22 years old. I don't identify with any religion, although I believe in God, ONE God, not several, not 3, not 3 in 1, but 1 all powerful entity that is the source of all life. I prefer not to eat meat or animal products, because i will not go so far as to sponsor the murder of a living creature who is no different from my pet cats or even myself to have even a moment of pleasure. I believe that we all have the right to love, no matter who we are and no matter who we love. I believe that true love does not mean marriage, that sex does not have to equal love, that sex before marriage can happen in a loving, meaningful way, and if you don't want to have a child at this very moment, you have the right to prevent that by means of celibacy or contraception. I believe that everyone in the world has a right to health and happiness, and that no one should go broke because they are paying medical bills. i believe that education is the most powerful tool in creating future generations of people who are intelligent, who think for themselves, and make sound and well-thought choices for themselves and for the greater good. I believe that the arts are an integral part of our heritage and culture, and if the government and citizens of this country stop supporting them in our schools and the public eye, we will lose a huge part of our identity, and further destroy any culture this country has left. I am proud to be a woman, I am proud to be an artist, and I'm proud of what I believe in. I believe in love, beauty, and art, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

If only it were so easy to be different....

Quiverfull- fighting feminism one baby at a time.

2010-04-29T05:25:00.001-07:00

i wrote this paper for my women and religion class as my big-ass 10 page paper. I think it's really interested, and this is a movement that everyone should be aware of. I also posted my bibliography if you want to do further (better) reading on the subject.

Andrea Yates, a native of Houston, Texas (“Andrea Yates”), was like any other God-fearing Christian mother. She and her husband, Rusty, a NASA engineer (Ramsland), were followers of preacher Michael Peter Woroniecki, who preaches that women who work or practice birth control are witches (Saunders), and, in turn, she stayed behind closed doors and home schooled her and Rusty’s five children (Holguin). On June 20th at around 10 AM, she called her husband at work to inform him that she had murdered all five of the children by drowning them in their home’s bathtub (Ramsland). At the time of her arrest, few people knew that Andrea Yates was part of a Quiverfull family (Dixon 39).

The Quiverfull movement is a small yet highly controversial subgroup in evangelical Christianity whose members attempt to have as many children as biologically possible (Roose 141). Quiverfull practicers swear off all forms of birth control, including natural family planning, and prepare themselves to accept children as God’s blessings. The movement takes its name from the Bible’s Psalm 127: “As arrows in the hand of a mighty man, so are the children of the youth. Happy is the man that hath a quiver full. They shall not be ashamed but they shall speak with the enemies in the gate” (Dixon 36). Adherents are careful not to make any mention of having a set number of children, as the Quiverfull website is careful to emphasize that family size is not what makes one a Quiverfull believer. It says, "Whether your quiver is large or small, you are welcome." Regarding all children as blessings and leaving fertility in the hands of God is the Quiverfull mission (Jalsevac). So for these families, child bearing is not a competition (or so they say.) It’s about accepting God’s blessings and being happy what they are given (Gernstein, Berman). The Quiverfull lifestyle has gained prominence in the popular media through the TLC show “19 Kids and Counting”, which follows the daily adventures of the Duggar Family, who live in Arkansas (Joyce “All God’s Children”).

The woman’s role does not stop with birthing several children. She is also expected to live as biblically, as possible, that is, to fulfill the role given to women illustrated by the Bible:
“The ‘biblical’ woman wears modest, feminine dress and avoids not only sex but also dating before marriage. She doesn’t speak in church or try to have authority over men. She doesn’t work outside the home, but within it she is its tireless center: homeschooling her children, keeping house, cooking bulk meals, and helping her husband run a business or ministry. When he comes home, she is a submissive wife who bolsters him in his role as spiritual and earthly leader of the family. She understands it’s her job to keep him sexually satisfied at all times and that it’s her calling as a woman to let those relations result in as many children as God wants to bless her with. She raises families of eight, ten, or twelve children, and she teaches her daughters to do the same” (Joyce ix).

When a woman is required to submit to her husband completely, giving up her body and her life for the sake of family and of God, one must wonder if a woman could be happy with this life. This way of life requires a radical erasure of women’s individual wants, and of their individual worth (Dixon 39). At first glance, Quiverfull appears to be a grassroots Christian movement, but this lifestyle choice has social and political implications that endanger the livelihood of women.
The Biblical basis for the Quiverfull movement comes from 4 different passages: Proverbs 31, Titus 2:3-5, 1 Peter 3:1, and Ephesians 5:21-24 (Joyce 8). Proverbs 31 values a cable wife, and claims she is more valuable than rubies (Proverbs 31:10). The chapter goes on to describe the various tasks this wife woman takes part in, such as waking early and feeding her family (Proverbs 31:15), helps the poor (Proverbs 31:20), selling handmade linen garments (Proverbs 31:24), and speaks with great wisdom and kindness (Proverbs 31:26). The end of the chapter states that “Charm is deceitful, and beauty is vain, but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised” (Proverbs 31:30).

While Proverbs 31 states the qualities the righteous woman should have, Titus 2:3-5 directs husbands to teach their wives good behavior:

“Likewise, tell the older women to be reverent in behavior, not to be slanderers or slaves to drink; they are to teach what is good, so that they may encourage the young women to love their husbands, to love their children, to be self-controlled, chaste, good managers of the household, kind, being submissive to their husbands, so that the word of God may not be discredited.”

This is a prime example of the “biblical” woman archetype that Quiverfull women are to fulfill.

1 Peter 3:1 has a similar message: “Wives, in the same way, accept the authority of your husbands, so that, even if some of them do not obey the word, they may be won over without a word by their wives’ conduct”. Wives are once again subject to their husband’s authority, and through their good behavior and obedience to their husbands, they bless their husbands and glorify God.

Ephesians 5:21-24 is most clear in putting women into their place:

“Be subject to one another out of reverence for Christ. Wives, be subject to your husbands as you are to the Lord. For the husband is the head of the wife just as Christ is the head of the church, the body of which he is the Saviour. Just as the church is subject to Christ, so also wives ought to be, in everything, to their husbands.”

Here, the relationship between man and woman is paralleled with the relationship between Christ and his Church: as the Church is the bride of Christ and is subject to him, so too is a wife to her husband.

Further biblical justification for the submission of women is mentioned in 1 Corinthians 11:3 (Thomas)- “But I want you to understand that Christ is the head of every man, and the husband is the head of his wife, and God is the head of Christ.” Instead of the comparison between Christ and his church, male and female are now likened to the relationship between God and Christ and Christ and man. Because Christ is the head of every man, and man is the head of every woman, this makes man the “Christ figure” of the household, and women must submit to him.

Compared to today’s society, the Quiverfull movement could possibly be countercultural. In the current era, where birth rates in the United States dropped by 2% between 2007 and 2008 (Stein), “The Quiverfull Premise, simply stated, is that society has gotten way off track, and that we should look to Christ (and the patriarchal societal structure that so often seems to follow in his wake) to get back to balance” (Dixon 36). It is imperative for Quiverfull followers to understand where their role in history, because “if you don’t, you don’t know what to do with your life” (Joyce 23). For men, this means positions of prominence, and for women, the acknowledgment of motherhood as their calling (Joyce 29). Women are to be the helper of man, to embrace being subordinate, and to help her husband become a better man, father, and husband. (Baker) This puts women in quite the predicament. If their husbands are fools, constantly wrong about family choices, abusive towards them or their children, or unwilling to help if the wife is overwhelmed, what is a woman to do? Their only option is to obey, even if their husband does not love them as he should, and women are to submit, not because their husbands told them to, but because Jesus commanded to be compliant. If a woman’s husband cannot give her the love she desires, then her only solace is in the love of Jesus Christ. Quiverfulls believe that Jesus is the eternal groom, that he shed his blood for the world (Baker), and that Jesus deserves women’s submission out of the sacrifice he made for them. “It is not because you love your husband that much, but it is because you love the Lord Jesus more. That is the key” (Thomas).

With all this talk of women submitting completely to men, the movement leaves no room feminist thought. Mary Pride, author of The Way Home: Beyond Feminism and Back to Reality and Quiverfull supporter, stated: “Feminism is a totally self consistent system aimed at rejecting God’s role for women. Those who adopt any part of its lifestyle can’t help picking up its philosophy. And those who pick up its philosophy are buying themselves a one-way ticket to social anarchy” (Dixon 36). Feminism is thought to be in direct violation with the role God had intended for women. Some Quiverfulls believe that feminism has no place in our world, because instead of making women equal to men, Feminism’s goal is to make women like men and competitive with men. These fundamentalists believe that feminists have gone to the opposite extreme from their practice of keeping women in the home: women putting themselves before their families (Thomas).

Not only are women’s lives usurped from their control, so are their bodies. “Women's attempts to control their own bodies--the Lord's temple--are a seizure of divine power” (Joyce “Arrows for the War”). Instead, the woman’s body is meant to be a living sacrifice(Joyce “Arrows for the War”). Woman are to believe that their bodies do not belong to them, but God’s alone to be used in the Christian Revival (Joyce “All God’s Children”). The Quiverfulls aim to revive America through bearing children, and it’s no surprise that this fundamentalist group is extremely prolife, eschewing all forms of contraception and condemning abortion. Because they believe that only God, who gives each of us life, is sacred, Christians must therefore respect life, but not worship it (Fields). Albert Mohler, president of the Southern Baptist Theological Seminary, has become one of its most prominent advocates. "If a couple sees children as an imposition, as something to be vaccinated against, like an illness, that betrays a deeply erroneous understanding of marriage and children," says Mohler. "Children should be seen as good by default” (Finan). With this “life is precious”, a Quiverfull philosophy must be a joyous one, as children are believed to be great blessings, not grave mistakes. “A world with more future adults who believe that is, all things considered, probably going to be a better place” (McIlheran). The size of the family also requires the complete commitment of the parents order to successfully live. “You do not get to live for yourself” (McIlheran).

Especially as a woman in the Quiverfull movement, you certainly do not have the opportunity to live for yourself. And Quiverfulls believe that following God’s command for men to be the head of the house and for women to submit ultimately leads to their personal happiness, “for when this command is ignored, it doesn’t make life better for women it actually makes life worse” (Thomas). How convenient it is for men to find biblical justification for a “theological foundation that, not surprisingly, holds women responsible for the unmaking of the righteous family” (Dixon 36). Women are often to blame when issues turn up in Quiverfull Families, because any action taken beyond the strict constraints of “Biblical Womanhood” are seen as not “appropriate, productive, and healthy for the overall structure of the home and society (Joyce 16). In the past few years, thanks to internet, several blogs and websites have begun to serve as resources for women who want to escape from this way of life. One of these blogs is Women’s Space, located at www.womensspace.org/phpBB2. A woman named “Heart” (either her real name or an internet alias) is the the center of Women’s Space, and she is a victim of the Quiverfull way. She wants the world to know that the actual lifestyle is very different from anything seen in the newspapers or on television. “They don’t publicize the stories of the women I know– women who have lived in, birthed in, dilapidated trailers or shacks without power or running water because their husbands wanted to live ‘debt-free,’ women who have survived on $100 per month for food for seven or eight kids and $25 per month for clothes for those kids, for years, because that’s all their patriarch husbands would allow them. They don’t publicize the many women who have suffered rapes, beatings, and been told by their ‘elders’ they should pray about it, be a better wife” (Heart).

Another of these survivors is Vyckie Garrison. She lived as a Quiverfull for several years, and due to her husband’s vision impairment, not only were all the domestic responsibilities hers, so too were the family’s finances. After she almost died in labor, the only words of inspiration her pastors could give her were “that if she died doing her maternal duty, God would care for her family”. With the responsibilities of raising a large family and caring for a blind husband getting overwhelming, she turned to her eldest daughter to assist her in the home, as Quiverfulls teach their daughters to follow in their mothers’ footsteps early. Eventually, the pressure caved in on 21 year old Angel, Garrison’s eldest, and after a failed attempt to take her own life, Garrison decided it was time to leave the Quiverfull movement and divorce her husband for the welfare of her family (Joyce “All God’s Children”). Soon afterwards, Garrison began the website NoLongerQuivering.com as a resource for women who wish to leave the movement. Within the site are several testimonies written by Garrison and other women who used to live biblically, and Garrison is in the process of publishing a book based on her blog.

Women abused within the movement often ignore any signs of abuse, thinking that their husband’s actions are completely warranted, or are normal. A testimony on NoLongerQuivering by a former Quiverfull under the alias “Journey” spoke of her confusing abusive relationship with her husband, Mark. Everyone at her church told her how lucky she was to have such a good, God-fearing husband, but behind closed doors, he was a completely different man. Journey felt she could not speak out against her husband’s abuse out of fear of sin- she did not want to disrespect her husband. Instead, she went into denial, believing the problems in their marriage and family were her fault, because after all, “ It’s very easy to be in denial when you are taught that rebellion is as the sin of witchcraft—and not thinking the best of your husband, not obeying him without question, those are all rebellious behaviors”. As soon as she began to question the authority her husband had over her, he acted out even more towards her (Journey).

With the male dominance in the household becoming a toxic environment for women, the movement threatens society as well. While many outsiders believe Quiverfull parents sacrifice their lives to give love to their children and are “too busy to fight a culture war” (Brooks), or that any God-loving “believer is unlikely to see her children as mere means to an end, as a weapon” (Joyce “Arrows for the War”), those inside the movement have a different and much more militant plan for their massive birth rates. Quiverfull mothers think of their children as no mere movement but as an army they're building for God (Joyce “Arrows for the War”), and with no left-wing response to this population challenge (Dixon 38), the fundamentalists may just get their way. The statistics are startling: in the 2004 election, George Bush carried the 19 states with the highest white fertility rates, and 25 of the top 26. John Kerry won the 16 states with the lowest rates (Brooks). And according to Quiverfull adherents, this is no mere coincidence.

Nancy Campbell, editor of the fundamentalist women's magazine “Above Rubies” and author of movement books like "Be Fruitful and Multiply," (Joyce “All God’s Children”) believes that the “womb is such a powerful weapon; it’s a weapon against the enemy” (Hagerty). Such militaristic language, describing “children as weapons for spiritual war” for a group who accepts every child out of love (Joyce “Arrows for the War”). Campbell continues, “If believers don’t start reproducing in large numbers, biblical Christianity will lose its voice... We look across the Islamic world and we see that they are outnumbering us in their family size, and they are in many places and many countries taking over those nations, without a jihad, just but multiplication” (Hagerty). When one sees this kind of talk, one could claim that the movement is racist. Not so, they claim, but consider the “chatter about declining Western birthrates and the concurrently rising fertility rates of Middle Eastern, African, and Latin American countries that permeate Quiverfull message boards tells a different story. The fear of white Christian culture being outpaced is right there in the scripture, in the specter of ‘enemies at the gate’” (Dixon 38). The Quiverfulls, racist or not, are aiming to reclaim America for Christ, and bring the people back to God. If “just 8 million American Christian couples began supplying more ‘arrows for the war’ by having six children or more, they propose, the Christian-right ranks could rise to 550 million within a century... They like to ponder the spiritual victory that such numbers could bring: both houses of Congress and the majority of state governor's mansions filled by Christians; universities that embrace creationism; sinful cities reclaimed for the faithful; and the swift blows dealt to companies that offend Christian sensibilities” (Joyce “Arrows for the War”).

Imagine a world that is influenced by this group of people: the role of women will be strictly dictated by the Bible and any step outside that confinement is thought to be sinful. But for many women, this is a reality. Though there are no exact figures for the size of the movement, the number of families that identify as Quiverfull is likely in the thousands to low tens of thousands (Joyce “Arrows for the War”), and recently, “theology of submission and headship has garnered the support of the second largest denomination in the United States, the sixteen-million member Southern Baptist Convention (SBC), which in 1998 released a statement urging wives to graciously submit to their husbands” (Joyce x). Before any individual or family decides to let God be “the only contraception that works 100% of the time” (Roose 141), one must consider how this way of life can affect women and their relationships with men. While there are voices speaking against the movement, claiming it is an “a movement deeply antagonistic to women’s very autonomy; it exacts a high price from them- no less than an entire life of submission and devotion to ‘Him’, in both senses of the word- in exchange for God’s good will and benevolence” (Dixon 39), many women are eager to submit and fight the battle for Christ by “ by dying themselves as Jesus died on the cross, by bowing down to the headship of their husbands, by laying aside their own ambitions to further the cause of the Lord and his representatives here on earth- the men God put in authority of them, their fathers first, then the men that they marry” (Joyce 8). The big question is, in the end, will this way of life be worth it?

Works Cited

""Andrea Yates"." Biography.com. N.p., n.d. Web. 28 Apr. 2010. .
Baker, Al . "Submission When It Is Not Easy." Banner of Truth. The Banner of Truth Trust, n.d. Web. 28 Apr. 2010. .
Brooks, David. "The New York Times > Opinion > Op-Ed Columnist: The New Red-Diaper Babies." The New York Times - Breaking News, World News & Multimedia. N.p., 4 Dec. 2007. Web. 29 Apr. 2010. .
Dixon, Kate. "Multiply & Conquer." Bitch Fall 2007: 34-39. Print.
Fields, Leslie Leyland. "The Case for Kids | Christianity Today | A Magazine of Evangelical Conviction." Chrishttp://www.bibme.org/tianityToday.com | Magazines, News, Church Leadership & Bible Study. N.p., 1 Aug. 2006. Web. 29 Apr. 2010. .
Finan, Eileen. "Making Babies the 'Quiverfull' Way - Newsweek.com." Newsweek - National News, World News, Health, Technology, Entertainment and more... - Newsweek.com. N.p., 13 Nov. 2006. Web. 29 Apr. 2010. .
Gernstein, Ted, and John Berman. "When Having Kids is a Religious Experience - ABC News." ABCNews.com - Breaking news, politics, online news, world news, feature stories, celebrity interviews and more - ABC News. N.p., 3 Jan. 2007. Web. 28 Apr. 2010. .
Hagerty, Barbara Bradley. "In Quiverfull Movement, Birth Control Is Shunned : NPR." NPR : National Public Radio : News & Analysis, World, US, Music & Arts : NPR. NPR, 25 Mar. 2009. Web. 29 Apr. 2010. .
Womenâ€™s Space. N.p., 14 Nov. 2006. Web. 29 Apr. 2010. .
Holguin, Jaime. "Home Schooling Nightmares - CBS Evening News - CBS News." Breaking News Headlines: Business, Entertainment & World News - CBS News. N.p., 14 Oct. 2003. Web. 28 Apr. 2010. .
Jalsevac, Meg. "Protestant Group Advocates Leaving Fertility in God's Hands - No Birth Control Artificial or Natural." LifeSiteNews.com [Toronto] 16 Nov. 2006: n. pag. LifeSiteNews.com. Web. 28 Apr. 2010.
Journey. " Itâ€™s Complicated: Why It Wasnâ€™t as Obvious as It Seems Like It Should Have Been â€” No Longer Qivering." There is no "you" in Quivering â€” No Longer Qivering. N.p., 30 Nov. 2009. Web. 29 Apr. 2010. .
Joyce, Kathryn. "Arrows for the War." The Nation. N.p., 9 Nov. 2006. Web. 29 Apr. 2010. .
Joyce, Kathryn. "All God's children - Religion - Salon.com." Salon.com - Salon.com. N.p., 14 Mar. 2009. Web. 28 Apr. 2010. .
Joyce, Kathryn. Quiverfull: Inside the Christian Patriarchy Movement. Boston: Beacon Press, 2010. Print.
McIlheran, Patrick . "More children, a greater gift - JSOnline." Milwaukee Journal Sentinel - Breaking news, sports, business, watchdog journalism, multimedia. N.p., 27 Dec. 2006. Web. 29 Apr. 2010. .
Ramsland, Katherine. "Andrea Yates, the Texas woman who drowned her 5 children -- The Crime Library - Crime Library on truTV.com." truTV.com: Not Reality. Actuality.. N.p., n.d. Web. 28 Apr. 2010. .
Roose, Kevin. The Unlikely Disciple: A Sinner's Semester at America's Holiest University. New York: Grand Central Publishing, 2009. Print.
Saunders, Doug. "Observers believe man played role in life of woman who admitted she committed crime ." Globe and Mail [Toronto] 14 Mar. 2002: n. pag. The Ross Institute Internet Archives for the Study of Destructive Cults, Controversial Groups, and Movements. Web. 28 Apr. 2010.
Stein, Rob. "U.S. birthrate drops 2 percent in 2008." Washington Post [Washington D.C.] 7 Apr. 2010: n. pag. The Washington Post. Web. 28 Apr. 2010.
Thomas, Geoff. "Wives Submit to Their Husbands." Banner of Truth. The Banner of Truth Trust, n.d. Web. 28 Apr. 2010. .

Oh Shit... Now what?

2010-03-11T20:13:00.000-08:00

It seems that I find myself at another crossroads. Here I am, 21 years old, in my last "real" semester of college (my last semester consists of my senior recital and senior capstone project), and I'm having second thoughts about the 2nd career choice I've explored.

I started out at West Chester University with the hopes of teaching music; preferably high school, and preferably band. Two years later, I realized that no matter how hard I tried, I would never be the right person to teach music in the school setting. I remember music class from when I was growing up- I hated it. I really did. I just wasn't interested. If I couldn't be interested in music class, when I am apparently a musician, how the heck am I going to get kids to care about a whole bunch of stuff they don't know and/or care about? I'm the kind of person who, over the years, has become so fearful of being disliked to the point that I acknowledge other people's personal interest, and I will never be in the place to make people who aren't me interested in what I like. That's just not my style, and I know if I fail at sparking interest in these people, I will feel like a fool and a failure. Also, I'm not the kind of person who can play every instrument, and I will never be able to pretend that I am capable of teaching children every band and/or string instrument, despite my stage experience. Children deserve better than that. They deserve someone who can actually teach them (CONFIDENTLY) how to play the trumpet, and they do not deserve me, who can't even pretend I can play the darn horn myself. Am i inadequate because I'm not one of those people? Perhaps. Does it make me feel stupid because I feel so incapable of splitting myself between 10+ instruments? Oh, you bet it does! But nothing hurts more than knowing I don't even care enough about what I do to try and make people care about music too.

This brings me to my issue with career choice #2: professional musician. Here you go, i thought, I can bring music to the people who care. I don't have to stand in a classroom and feel like I'm talking to a brick wall when I try and make middle schoolers realize the value of Mozart's music. So I've spent the past 6 months locking myself in a closet sized room for around 4 hours a day, trying to make myself the best flute player I can be. I've tried to learn the hardest repertoire to increase my chances of getting into a grad school of my choosing, and I do an hour of tone exercises so I sound adequate during both my solo rehearsals and ensemble rehearsals. I practice hard so I can hopefully have a career, which will in turn provide me with a living, and my own financial independence (that is, from my overly generous parents who I am eternally grateful to have.)

Can you count how many times I refer to myself in that last paragraph? Around 15 times. Maybe more. I lost count. Me. Me, me, me, me, me, me, I, I, I, myself, mine, me, me, me, me, fucking me.

Well, I'm sick of me.

I understand that if I'm going to make music for the rest of my life, it can't be all about other people; then I'd never get anything done, especially when other people aren't always going to like what i do. Some degree of this needs to be done for myself. It really feels like this "music must be done for you" mentality has consumed my entire life though. I feel like I wake up in the morning, think about myself. I brush my teeth, I think about myself. I blowdry my hair, more about myself. Get to swope, find a practice room. 2 hours of thinking about myself. Eat lunch, think more about me. Practice more... you get it. It's all about me. And while it's great that I do think about me and what I'm doing and where I'm going (many people don't do that, so I'm fortunate that I take the listen to myself... which is what i'm doing now, lol)... this isn't the kind of person I am. I'm a person who invests quite a bit in her personal relationships and the people around her. And while it's good to focus on me, especially at my "young" age, I don't know if I can do this for the rest of my life.

I really care about people. Like, a lot. Almost to the point that it's obsessive. Ask my boyfriend. He'll tell you how crazy I am about him. It's almost frightening, really. And while, yes, as a musician, I get to work with students on a 1 on 1 capacity, I feel like it'll be ages before I get to the point where I will have the reputation, the skills, and the time to actually build a rapport with anyone. It may never even happen for me, that's how unpredictable the business is.

When I look back at who I was when I first started college, and who I am now, I've noticed something very strange. I feel like I've taken a trip out of myself and have gone full circle. I've tried everything, the 'ol college try, ya know? When I think about whether or not I have changed, I feel like I did when I initially began college. There were pieces of myself that I left at home when I first began college, and now that I'm finishing up, I've refound these things I left behind: spirituality, helping others, and being a good person who stands up for what and who they believe in, despite what others may think about me. These ideas now have a new meaning than they did 4 years ago (i.e., spirituality for me has no religious connotations, but I do believe in God, who I know sticks his head out for me more than once on a daily basis), but I think in the end, here as I sit on my parent's computer, I'm more or less (I like to think more) the same person I was as I sat here 4 years ago, asking the same questions. Except I'm a little wiser, but even more clueless on a direction to head in.

Don't get my wrong. I like music. I really do. But if I'm going to do it for me and my love for it, I'm not sure that can be my entire life. I feel like I will resent music if it's not getting me what I want, an actual career and the luxury of not working a dead end job in retail. But even if I have this dream career, it will mean nothing without a man by my side, a child or two, and being surrounded by people that I love. But I can't have any of those things until I have some sort of steady income, and working at TGI Friday's doesn't count.

With that said... Oh shit. Now what?

Thoughts after 3 weeks of not eating meat

2010-02-06T15:17:00.000-08:00

This is me, laying in the middle of my street doing a snow angel. Here in Southeast PA, even the smallest amount of snow is capable of shutting down the busiest of towns.

I love snow. Even though it makes driving next to impossible, even though I hate shoveling it, and it makes the bottom of my pants wet, I have a very strong attachment to it. Maybe it's the memories of my mom taking us grocery shopping and then to the video store to rent video games and movies, or maybe it's just awesome looking, or it's great for making frozen margaritas (hell, being snowed in is pretty much God's way of saying "Stay home and drink a lot.") I dunno, snow rocks. It's the #1 reason why I don't want to go to Texas for grad school.

So I wouldn't get bored today (as I had anticipated staying in all day thanks to the two feet of snow that fell overnight), I, too, flocked to the grocery store along with the hoards of soccer moms who had beat me there. As i pulled into the parking lot, it was already full, and 80% of the cars were mid-sized SUVs. Luckily, I wasn't looking to buy any meat or else I would have been shit out of luck- the meat section was completely emptied out, along with the milk and the majority of the bread (and for some reason... the mushrooms. weird.) So with my materials to make a chili, lemon bars, and chocolate chip cookies in hand, i headed home.

With the mass of vegan cooking I've done lately, i can't help but think about the big change I decided to make about 3 weeks ago. I constantly ask myself if I did the right thing. I wondered if I would be as steadfast in my beliefs when I had written that blog post as I am right now. While I have had plenty of time to give things plenty of thought, being a vegetarian has given me the opportunity to do a lot of cooking that I otherwise would not have done. Back when I was considering veganism, it was mostly caused by the fact that I was really bored with cooking chicken. Every night, it was like I was eating the same meal- a grilled chicken breast with something (usually rice) on the side. So far, I've tried millet, different kinds of beans, tofu, and I just ordered mimiccreme from Amazon to make my own cheese! This is so much fun, and sure beats the heck out of having chicken and rice every day. I've also used to eat fast food 3 or 4 times a week. I now have fast food once a week, and it's always Chipotle since they're so vegan friendly. I also used to hate salad. I'm now finding new ways to enjoy eating when I formally thought to be "rabbit food", and most of the groceries in my cart are fresh vegetables. It has completely changed the way I think about food.

Am I 100% vegan as I would have hoped? Not yet. You can't expect me to give up the stuff cold turkey. I eat out a lot, and I've noticed there are NO vegan options anywhere. On the very day after I swore off meat, I went to the chinese restaurant, and with my meal they could only offer me wonton soup. No other option. I had no clue the world was so anti-veg. And yet the more I went out, the more I noticed how meat really is the center of the American diet. The typical American menu is split into different sections: Appetizers, Salads, House Specialities, Meat, Chicken, Pasta. Never Vegetables (unless you go to PF Chang's or most chinese restaurants). Is that healthy? How did that become normal? I guess it really is true that more people want to eat more meat, without any thought of the repercussions eating it may have on personal health, animal welfare, and the environment. People don't really view eating meat as harmless at all. I wish there was something I could do to better inform people. Even if people cut down their animal product consumption by a little, they'd be playing a very important role in changing the world.

I ate meat twice in the past 3 weeks. I have yet to admit this to anyone (once again, you can't expect me to give up this stuff cold turkey, lol). The first time was at the Christiana Mall a week ago. The chinese restaurant lady gave me a piece of bourbon chicken. I felt bad rejecting her, so I took it and ate it. For some reason I thought it was a really good idea to get chicken from Masterwok. It took about 10 minutes for that really heavy feeling after you have a large meal to return. I've been eating like a pig since I went veg, but not once have I had that really heavy feeling. The first thought after finishing my spicy chinese chicken was "That wasn't even that good." I knew it wasn't worth it at all. It was expensive, it tasted like crap, and most of all it was mass produced cheap chicken produced at the costs of torturing an animal. Not worth it all all.

The second was at my grandma's birthday party. I ate 1 chicken nugget. It sucked. The next day I went to Giant and bought some vegetarian chicken nuggets. They actually tasted better then the real chicken ones.

I'm really excited for the food I'm going to make in the next couple weeks. Even thought I briefly caved, I think it got me more excited to cook different things. I'm actually hoping to go through the veganomicon book and not repeat a recipe until I've tried all the ones I can in the book, which will be hard since my Giant supermarket isn't to veg friendly. It's hard... but I'm really glad I'm doing this.

Oh, and I've eaten about 35 of these between yesterday when I baked them and today. They're vegan and delicious. I got the recipe from JennShaggy's blog, which I am in love with, and you can find the winning recipe here. They taste TOTALLY legit. My boyfriend's roommate said they're some of the best chocolate chip cookies she's ever had. And unless i told you they were vegan, you'd never know. ; )

Is it strange that after 21 years of living, only for the first time i realized that meat was once a living, breathing animal?

2010-01-14T15:33:00.000-08:00

I hate thinking about how decisions that seem so tiny and trivial in the present can have such a significant impact on the future. When filling out my college applications, it saddened me tot hink that a B- in sophomore year Chemistry would affect getting into a prestigious university. When I sitting in that Chemistry, bored out of my mind, I didn't give jack shit about it. All I could think about was how I absolutely hated my teacher's style of instruction, and how I was going to manage a passing grade (I was supposed to fail my last quarter- my teacher showed me the 65 I was supposed to receive on my report card and says, "Well... You do sing very well." A 75 showed up on my report card. Insert sigh of relief.) I can't even go a day without practicing, thinking that 1 lazy day will amount in a disappointing showing at grad school auditions.

So after about 4 months of failed dieting (the only thing that worked was being too busy and never home to eat), I started to think that maybe I should give more thought to what I put into my body, since eating those 6 slices of pizza will most definitely affect how I look later. No one likes to give much thought into something that's so petty. Eating is something that not only gives you energy, but is a social activity and a pleasurable one. Why should so much thought be given to this simple act that's such a vital part to life? To me the only choice to made was "This looks yummy! NOM." And that's where it should end. But unfortunately, looking at everything tasty isn't exactly doing anything for my weight, and I don't particularly like how I look right now, so I decided, in lieu of the new year, it was time to make some changes.

I like change; usually, changing something in my life, whether it's diet, exercise, sex life, it involves a new book. And what does a new book involve? Yes, that's right, a trip to Barnes and Noble, my personal Disneyland, my happiest place on earth. I quickly found the cookbook section and proceeded to get lost in the stacks of books like I always do (my average B&N trip takes 2-3 hours). So after glancing at the titles of dietbooks (all promising things like "fat burning" and "flat belly", etc.), I quickly became dissatisfied. Why buy a book about some diet to take away my belly fat if I don't have that much time to work out? Please, no food in the world melts belly fat. It's true. So I glanced some more, flipped through Mario Batali's Italian cooking bible, and eventually stumbled into the vegetarian and vegan section.

I picked up a massive volume entitled Veganomicon. I flipped through it for a while, seeing the pretty pictures of meatless dairyless and eggless food, and was pretty satisfied. I thought to myself, "Well, you eat a lot of meat. That can't be too good for you. Plus it's expensive. This seems to be the one." So I purchased Veganomicon, stopped by Chipotle for a beef burrito (I must be the worst person on earth), and hurried home to open what seemed to be a treasure chest full of food that might be good for me (Note: I did this on a Sunday morning, when I told my parents I was at church. Little did they know that instead of eating Jesus at church, I was at the bookstore considering becoming vegan.)

I went home and read through the entire book (what can I say, I like food, I like books, and naturally I like reading about food. I have a feeling that in the newest edition of Webster's Dictionary, a picture of my face appears next to the word "nerd".) After realizing the plethora of options I would have as a vegan, I decided that maybe this was something I'd try out. But not every day. And only at home. Like, if I went to my parent's house, and they were having chicken for dinner, I'd eat their chicken so I wouldn't insult my mother, or if I go out to eat and see a tasty sounding burger on the menu, then I'd order that, but I had every intention of keeping any sort of vegetarianism as a health concern, with no ethical concerns about animal rights, factory farms, or the environment.

Then I decided that was stupid. I mean, vegans always have a big reason as to why they don't consume animal products. I don't mean this in an insulting way- it's just that most vegans I know are very firm in their convictions and have very strong beliefs, and I would feel like such a dumbass if I was this half-assed vegetarian who ate meat at her parent's house and only ate quinoa for "health reasons" (whatever the fuck that means. Most of my diets are out the window within a week for me, usually ending in a trip to Wendy's, ironically, because their food enters a window via my Volvo. Heh. hahaha. I promise I won't laugh at anymore of my shitty jokes.) So I decided I that if I was going to be some sort of veggie-vore, I would at least find a better reason than "Eating meat makes you fat, and I don't want to be fat anymore."

So where better to find out why you should be vegan than good 'ol Google.com. No, seriously. I went to Google and typed in "Reasons why to be a vegan". After reading a plethora of websites talking about animal rights, I found a video about the atrocities in a kosher slaughterhouse. Dating a Jew who takes pride in Jewish Law requiring good care of animals during life and hasty and minimally painful slaughters, I clicked on the link to watch the it. The video featured a young author, Jonathan Safran Foer, talking about this slaughterhouse. Unfortunately, my computer's processor is so fried that I only saw the first 20 seconds or so, but it was enough. Not so much the mutilation of the cows, but I had seen the name of that author someone before (plus, there's nothing I love more than a nerdy looking Jewish guy.) I had seen him on Amazon.com, when I was looking for potential cookbooks. His exposé entitled Eating Animals was a suggested book under the "Food and Wine" books section of the site. I decided to then google Eating Animals to see what the press had said about his book.

What I found was a review written by my favorite actress/idol Natalie Portman (Natalie's article can be found here.) In the title of the article itself, Natalie states that Foer's book converted her from a vegetarian to a vegan. Woah. If you're pretty set on your beliefs, and if those are already pretty strict, and someone convinces you to even place more restrictions on your diet, then damn!! She goes on to explain what the book is about, and how the American public, including herself, are completely oblivious to the damage factory farming is doing to human health, animal welfare, and the environment. Now that I pretty much had orders from Natalie Portman herself to become a vegan, I decided to read Eating Animals. I mean, Natalie Portman said it was good, so I'll really like it too, right? Then again, Natalie Portman could tell me to go outside, roll in the mud, and walk around naked wearing just my ugg boots and I'd think it's the best idea ever.

Well, she didn't let me down. I finished the entire book in about 2 days. Eating Animals is probably the most eye opening book I have ever read. I even took a classes that met three times a week on the environment, and we discussed factory farming, and we had to watch the PETA "Meet your meat" videos and everything, and nothing affected me quite like this did. Maybe it was the way Foer uses words because not only is he an animal rights activist, but he's a real writer and not just some stuffy scientist who can't write for shit. I don't know. But I can't ever look at meat the same way ever again. For the first time in my life, I looked at a piece of chicken and thought to myself, "Holy shit... this thing used to walk." Try making a chicken dinner for your family and eating it after realizing that. That's what I did- i put down the book around page 100, made my parents dinner, and ate a piece of chicken. I had a lump in my stomach the entire time I ate, thinking about how this chicken probably lived in a pile of its own feces and was brutally murdered.

See, I come from a family where we would eat meat with a side of meat for dinner, like buffalo wings, a steak, and potato skins with cheddar and bacon all on one plate. My older sister came home from college a vegetarian one summer. My father basically told her she was full of crap and she was eating meat again by the end of that same summer. Anything sort of attempt at a vegetarian diet would bring me ridicule from my family, especially because I'm the cook in the house, and I used to think that vegetarians were full of crap (not to mention, I used to be extremely outspoken about my love of bacon. I'm even a fan of it on facebook). I actually spoke to my former vegetarian sister on the phone. I don't know how we got on the topic, but I mentioned something about mistreated animals in factory farms. She said, "well, that's why you don't think about it when you're eating it." And I think that's our problem. Most people don't know the horrors of factory farming. Many have no clue that cows are skinned and gutted alive- it's true. Cows are huge, and if a cow's heart isn't pumping, it'll keep too much blood in the animal, making the meat more susceptible for bacteria growth and, in turn, shelf life will be shorter, and who wants to buy tainted meat? I'm not kidding. It's true. But maybe we should just not think about that and eat the steak? During World War II, Bayer Aspirin sponsored the medical experiments of Dr. Josef Mengele, a Nazi mad scientist who performed the most revolting and dehumanizing tests on Jewish and Roma people. If you lived during this time and knew about this, would you refuse to buy their product, or would you just pop the pills and choose not think about the murder they are allowing to happen? How can we solve anything if the majority of people don't even know a problem exists, and the ones that do make jokes and consciously ignore the cruelty?

And that was when I realized that the food I choose to eat has become one of those choices in my life that would effect not only my future, but the future of the world. I haven't figured out when I'm going to do when I'm living with my parent's at home, but I decided that at my home in college, I will have no meat and as few dairy and egg products as possible. It'll be a 180 change in direction for me, seeing that my boyfriend and I went to Fogo de Chao, the steak restaurant version of Walmart, for our anniversary last year, but I want to be one less person sponsoring the cruelty that is factory farming.

Oh, and I'm still eating honey. I fucking hate bees.

Santa Claus and the Mechanics of Belief

2009-10-26T12:14:00.000-07:00

For those of you who may not remember who Santa is, he's this jolly old fat white guy who apparently lives on the north pole. Every Christmas, he rides a sled that's pulled by a bunch of reindeer to every home across the world to give presents to the children who have been good all year, and to stuff a christmas stocking full of coal to children who have been naughty. Children make long lists of toys they want santa to bring them, and they fall asleep on christmas eve night, hoping that their wishes were granted and they were good enough that year, resulting in getting what they want.

Children eventually stop believing in Santa when they get older. There are a couple reasons for this; they range from "I saw mommy eating the cookies I left for santa!" to "I saw daddy putting the presents!" to "I just don't think he exists." The most basic reason that children lose their belief in Santa is because they have no tangible proof that he exists. No one has been to his house; have you been to the north pole lately to visit santa? probably not. No one has seen him put presents under their tree. No one has his exact address, telephone number, email, web page.... etc. No one has a photograph of the real santa, and no one has a hair from his reindeer or a bell from his sleigh.

This demonstrates a really interesting point. Even children know better than to believe in something they have no tangible proof of. So how are we expected to believe in ourselves the same way? Sure, my friends can tell me that I'm a good musician. They can tell me over and over again, just like a parent can tell a child that santa exists, over and over again. But there is no tangible proof that I am a skilled flute player. I have no awards, good reviews, job offers, etc., that I can look at and say "I am a competent musician who I believe in, and because I have this proof, you should to."

So I guess it's a personal choice, whether or not to put faith into yourself and hope that you'll get rewarded in the end. At least for the kids who believe in santa, they'll get presents to reward their faith. For those of us who try believe in ourselves, we'll most likely get jack shit.

How did I become a spectator, watching my own life??

2009-07-24T07:34:00.000-07:00

I've always had low self esteem- it's been apparent through the years how this has affected me. It has prevented me from talking to several people who probably would have been great friends with me. It has prevented me from recovering from several failures. It has made me insecure to the point that I am paranoid that everyone in the world really hates me and that I have no friends. It's been hard living with this my entire life, but i'm not exactly sure how to fix it. There is no magic fix to a lack in self confidence. And the worst part about this unfortunate condition that affects millions of people is when people who are pleased with themselves will never understand what you feel. In my experiences, these people have seen my self deprecating speech as attention-getting. They don't believe that I believe in myself very little, and do not want to hear it when I don't think I'm as good as or as pretty as other people. To those people, I'd like to say what i've wanted to say for my entire life: fuck you. I don't like being like this. Anyone that does actually enjoy wallowing in their self pity is truly disturbed. I am not one of those people.

I was talking to my boyfriend on the phone tonight, and he said at his camp where he works the following quote was displayed (i don't exactly remember what it is, so i'm going to try to my best here) "There can be great glory in defeat" or something along those lines. Being me, cynical, competitive, asian (yes, i'll explain to you later how this plays into the equation), and in general, a bitch, i immediately began shooting down this little token of inspiration. "There is no glory in defeat. no one likes losing. losing is the way life says to you that you're not getting what you want. Failure, being defeating, losing, etc., no matter how you look at it, it just sucks. There's no other way to put it. If we all had this mentality, why would we try at anything? I mean, if I had this attitude where I could just fail and it doesn't really matter, then I wouldn't try at anything." Dan retorted, "No, of course people don't want to fail. The kids try really hard and want to win." To which i immediately shot back, "They want to win! So how do you think they're going to feel when they don't? not good! Losing sucks!" I guess I'm never going to get it, and I feel bad that the argumentative and cynical side of me tries so hard to bash my poor boyfriend's wonderfully idealistic views of the world.

obviously, there's a disconnect between us. he was raised thinking that it's okay to do something and not be amazing at it. I was raised doing a couple things (that were picked by my mother), and if you're not good at them, then you suck. Mostly, this had to do with school, but I grew up playing the piano, and this hit me when I was going through a period where I had so much school work I did not have time to practice, and when it came down to recital time, i played one short piece, and my dad tells me, "It's not really worth showing up to these things if you're only going to play one little piece." ouch. But coming home with grades lower than 97% was unacceptable. My mother would give me a piece of music, usually a hymn, and tell me not to leave the piano until I could play it. But i was taught that it's fun to be good, not that it's good to have fun. This attitude has affected me in ways that i never even imagined. Sometimes, i cry when I lose playing video games. Really? yes. I'm a baby. but it's true that I just won't have fun until I'm good.

Of course, i'm going to pull out the Asian card here for some explanation. The filipino family culture is extremely similar to its chinese and japanese neighbors. The actions of the children are basically an outreach of the actions of the parents. If I performed badly in school, my mom felt as if she performed badly in school. If i'm lazy and don't practice the piano, my mom feels like it's her fault. She doesn't want it to be her fault, because she feels she made no mistakes teaching and taking care of me. So therefore, I'm in trouble. This is at least why my parents expect perfection; because if I'm not perfect, they messed up, and nobody wants to be wrong.

So in arguing to dan that I had no recent accomplishments, that I said something apalling: "I'm going to admit, if I have a title that isn't prestigious, I will not feel successful EVER." I mean, who wants to grow up to be Joe Shmoe, anyone else? I want to stand out and be someone, and that's nice. But my theory of going about that is distorted for this very single reason: I only want this prestigious title because other people will be impressed by it.

It made me think about why I do the things I do. I cook because people like to eat my food. I sing and play because i like to think that people listen to me. I hold parties because I know people like to socialize. notice a pattern? Everything I do is for other people, to fulfill this selfish need of mine to impress and serve others. And that's when it hit me.

I am a spectator on my own life. i'm no longer in my own skin, but I'm someone on the outside, looking in. I'm criticizing myself, as if I would criticize someone i don't know. I look at facts like, "West chester university is a state run school where stupid tan beach bunnies study elementary education. I must be a moron because i go there too."

Yeah, that doesn't sound right. So basically, my undying quest to please others has caused me to live my life in a perpetual out of body experience? Yes. in fact, since i was a small girl, i've always imagined myself having some kind of rearview mirror, or in this case, chrissy view mirror that sees myself doing what I'm doing at that exact moment. This image is constantly being projected in my head. this is a scary realization, because now i have to step back into my body, sit down, and find all the reasons for doing what I do. It's going to be an interesting challenge, but I'm up for it.

After having several kids, who is this woman??

2009-07-05T13:43:00.000-07:00

This question prompts me after going to a number of family picnics. Being around young married women, beautiful women carting toddlers in strollers and their manly husbands wearing polo shirts, khaki zipper fly shorts, and flip flops drinking bottled beer has made me think about who these people may have used to be and who they are now.

With the majority of women going to college after they graduate high school, it perplexes me how many of these women are now "self employed" (still haven't figured out what that means) or stay at home mothers. So let me get this straight: Say you went to a private university. That would cost, maybe, $40,000 dollars a year. So $160,000 later, a bachelors degree, perhaps a student teaching experience, internship, or a research fellowship etc. later you packed up your books, put on a white dress, and began popping out kids, never to use that $160,000 degree again in order to wipe up baby barf? (note, not all aspects of motherhood are this bad. i hope.) You spent 4 years (or more) of your life working and studying on what was supposed to make YOU happy, make YOU successful, prepare YOU for the real world, just to create a life that centers completely around someone else?

Listening to the conversations this women have, I can't say that I remember them mention themselves once. It's all about their kids. "Little Jimmy doesn't sleep very well during the night", "Maddie just loves watching high school musical. It's her favorite!", "Aidan was potty trained in 4 months! He's such a little rockstar!" I can't believe this is what has become of these beautiful, educated women. It's not as if they've been reduced to Stepford Wives, but I feel that they had a higher calling than housekeeper, homemaker, and baby sitter. I feel that these women have lost a sense of self, living for their husbands and children, and this poses the question: After having 4 kids, who are you?

The empty nest syndrome is the greatest evidence for this. Women spend their entire lives caring for their children, and then when they inevitably leave, they don't know who they are, they don't know who their husbands are, and they have absolutely no clue what to do with their new found time. Couples who have been together for 25-30 years end up divorcing because they ignored their relationship for the sake of their children. They stopped having sex and fell out of love. Sometimes, this even happens far before the kids leave home, and the children are scarred by the experience of being raised by parents who don't love each other. With the idealism of the home being the place where children first learn what love is, this is not the example of love any child needs to learn.

Why did their husbands marry them in the first place? Did they go to the bar one night, take one look at their future wife, and say, "My, that woman looks like she cooks a mean meatloaf, can keep a house clean, and can manage 5 or 6 children"? God, I hope that's not what a man is thinking every time one looks may way! Men look for women who are not only beautiful, but intelligent, fun to talk to and spend time with. Some men enjoy the company of women who will challenge their entire belief system, while others love a woman who is as fiery in personality as she is in the bedroom. But I highly doubt men date to find a cleaning lady, personal cook, and nanny. If they wanted one of those, they'd put a classified in the paper.

So it may sound selfish, but perhaps in a family situation, it wouldn't hurt if a wife and mother thought of herself a little more. But if you believe it's your calling in life to raise children, there's nothing wrong with that. For myself, however, I hardly find living completely for someone else to be self-fulfilling. I like to have a balance of both.