On Religion and Controversy

There are a variety of subjects that I avoid in my little corner of the bloggiverse simply because I'm not interested in being controversial. Some people may view this as a bit of a cowardly, mousey way to be - but for the most part, it seems to be the best idea, as honestly- I don't want to be one of those people who brings up something potentially inflammatory and then gets all hurt when people argue with my views.

Ideas I have strong feelings on, but avoid blogging about:

Michael Jackson
Abortion
Aboriginal Rights
The Military
Big Business/Little Business- consumerism
Misogyny - patriarchal institutions and organizations.

One topic though that I've also gone out of my way to avoid is something that I think I might actually tackle today: religion.

I was raised Anglican, and for my first five years of elementary I went to Catholic school.

Catholic school was beautiful. In grade 2 I was introduced to the concept of confession. "Religion" was a subject taught daily. We said the Lord's Prayer and Hail Mary each morning. We would go to mass regularly where I would see alter boys in flowing robes and hear bells chiming like music. We wore uniforms and behaved way more appropriately than any child who went to public school ever did.

I left after grade four because I found the girls there to be snobby and cliquish and I longed to have friends who lived within walking distance. But still, forever afterward I was the good student. The one who made the sign of the cross for the few remaining years we said the Lord's prayer in class and got funny looks for it. The one who dressed up for school. The one who was silently appalled at how shockingly inappropriately both the boys and the girls acted in class.

I still went to church with my father. He insisted that I go at least once a month with him. It seemed a fair trade off as I really didn't mind going too much. There was something kind of soothing and magical about church.

I enjoyed the predictability and the ceremony of it all. My church was more strict than many others in that we did communion every Sunday. I learned the Apostle's Creed and the Nicene Creed. I would stare at all the people around me during the infinitely long homilies and try my best not to fidget.

As I got older, long past the time when my father insisted I accompany him, I would still go occasionally. I found church to be a nice slap in the conscience. It reminded me of the kind of person that I wanted to be.

As time progressed, and I moved out of the nest I rarely went. Although occasionally I would find the need to go to a different service with friends. Friends getting baptized or married. Funerals. Or simply very devout friends that I would accompany when visiting them from out of town.

I always found it profoundly uncomfortable. Something about these ceremonies were just...wrong. In some cases I found them to be too laid-back and informal. In others it was indefinable. There was simply some quality missing that I associated with church. Which was silly, since I didn't even go anymore.

I very strongly believe that a person shouldn't simply carry on with the religion that they grew up with. There are infinite varities of denominations out there, and I think that we are obligated to take the time to actually think about what each one means and represents and decide which is best for your own set of values.

I am still on that journey. I confess, it's not something that I actively research- but I am open to other possibilities. But there's just something about the church that I grew up with that cannot be replaced. A sense of comfort and home.

Perhaps it's God?

Happy

Life is glorious today my darlings. For once I'm writing a happy post, not to counter-balance a previous cranky post- but just because.

I've officially been at my job for a year and I still love it. Even the few apprehensions I had about personal relations have dissolved. I feel appreciated, and I'm truly motivated to do the best job I possibly can. With every piece of work submitted I am pleased with my efforts, and hopeful that others recognize the care that was put into it, and think that I'm a rock star.

RE: WW - well I lost 4 pounds in 4 days. Not entirely the healthy way to do it - but one can't go from eating big bags of M&M's a couple times a week to eating 27 points per day without noticing some radical results in the beginning. And a bonus? I don't crave the chocolate so much at the moment. Right now it's avocados that are my illicit pleasure (that's 9.5 points yo!). I've also invented some creative ways to get my heart rate up - creation #1 - kick dancing around my condo. Think a mix between Tae Bo and uh stupid bar dancing. What's weird is that I've lost less than 10 pounds but my clothes already hang different on me. I don't really get that- I'm sure I've been within this 10 pound range off and on for a while now- but suddenly it's making a difference.

I had a glorious evening with the girls (+ 1 male) last night at my Partylite shindig. Anyone in Winnipeg reading this? The show doesn't close until Thursday! Kimmie (the fabulous consultant) would be grateful for your support!

Today is Friday. I have a whole gloriously relaxing weekend spread out before me in a few short hours.

Today is also payday. Woo.

I'm eating strawberries right now. They're only 1 point. Lovely.

My allergies? Have also found a friend: a cold. This has turned into a great source of amusement to me. Not only am I super squeaky right now, but I'm not sure how to treat myself. I assume I just add cold meds to my daily dose of allergy meds? It's just so awful and pitiful that I have to laugh about it. I mean the outdoors is just a part of the world - what can I do? While I think it's unlikely that I will ever spend a weekend camping- I refuse to turn down things (too often) like BBQ's and walks in the park. Although I think I may have an indoorsy kind of weekend (after my patio date with friends tonight) - maybe some movies, some filing at home, maybe go to the mall?

Farmer's market: On a not-so-staying-inside note: I live very close to an awesome farmer's market. If you're in the Winnipeg area, and have never gone? Go. Immediately. (Uh, or Saturday morning anyhow.) I think I'll do that tomorrow morning - you know, a morning outside right after my evening on the patio. (Apparently I lack conviction). A note about markets: I went to one last weekend with my person and Ali and made a glorious (although probably obvious) discovery: you can barter. I coveted a necklace that was $20.00 and I only had $17.00 and he let me have it anyways! Awesome. I'm wearing it today. Love it. Farmer's markets? Make me happy.

My lunch hour being over? Well, makes me less happy- but at least I'm now only a few hours away until leaving work. Feel free to leave me happy comments! The more happy spread around the better...

Naughty Joe

"It's easier to ask forgiveness than permission."

The first time I ever heard that expression I giggled. It just seemed so naughty.
The goody-goody part of me questioned the wisdom of such a sentiment, but since the consequences seemed fated to fall on the speaker, and not me, I didn't worry about it too much.

I heard that expression again and again over the years, and I've finally stopped giggling.

It seems a reflection of the way society is today. And it also reminds me of why I've quit therapy in the past.

You see we seem to be in a world now where everyone is expected to be so understanding and possessed of a sense of humour about anything and everything.

Now this post is not about to advocate for a pull-back on compassion and empathy - but it certainly will be addressing the fact that no one seems to have to hold themselves accountable for their actions anymore.

The quitting therapy thing? Was because I got sick and tired of the therapist excusing every single not-so-stellar action and thought that I had. You were bitchy to your friends? That's OK, it's because you lost your mother when you were 11. You hate your job and want to quit? That's OK, you should totally quit, even though you have a mortgage and live alone and most likely won't get Employment Insurance. Go ahead.

Extreme examples that never really happened (Well, OK I did quit the job, but I knew I was taking a risk) but they prove the point. I don't think people should necessarily always feel that they are the victim when they do something wrong. I don't think that the fact that I want to do something, means that I should discount the objections of others and expect forgiveness for doing so.

The problem is? People seem to think that everything should be understood. Let's look at some completely offensive blog posts I've read lately. There have been some, that in my mind, are genuinely shocking and inappropriate, not to mention stupid. Now when I see those, I read enough to get offended, and then move on to the next post. I'm not a fan of playing editor in the space the a virtual stranger has claimed in the bloggiverse. I also get offended by Ben Stiller. But some people like him. Live and let live.

But? When someone quite rightly does say something? Is it necessarily the correct reaction to get offended that someone had the audacity to criticize your words? To make fun of them for even politely pointing out that you did something not in the best of taste? To accuse them of being uptight and having no sense of humour or being some kind of racist/feminist/fascist/elitist?

Maybe, you should own the fact that you may have made an error in judgement, consider whether your actions might have affected someone else, and take responsibility for it. Because like it or not, your actions, my actions, their actions affect other people in this world. And why else are we on this planet except to make the world a better place for everyone? Do the best you can to be happy, and cause as little damage along the way as possible.

I've mentioned before that I wrote a blog post once that lost me 2 friends. And I've tried to convince myself that the punishment was disproportionate to the offense. And maybe it was. Maybe it wasn't. Even so, I can't get over the fact that I did something to hurt some of "my people." And for that, I need to take ownership of the situation, acknowledge that what I did was wrong, and do my best to make amends.

Why is it that behaving badly, making inappropriate jokes and having a general disregard for the feelings of those around us is now something that we should simply accept about a person? If we accept that "oh Joe's just a jerk, you get used to it" then why should Joe ever change his behaviour? Why is it that the onus is on everyone else in the world to adapt to the sinner?

Am I advocating intolerance? No. Am I claiming that we shouldn't condone bad behaviour? Yes.

Kicking it with the Vampires

It's so easy on a blog to write about the bad memories. The things that make you sad/angry/frustrated etc.
And it's easy to just post a list of things that are good in your life.

I've done both in this little corner of the bloggiverse.

But I've never really taken the time to think about what really makes me happy, and what do I really want to do with my life?

I think part of my restlessness comes from the fact that I don't really have goals for myself. I don't have a list of things that I want to accomplish by the time I'm 30 40. Whenever I read my actual diary I see restlessness. An inexplicable unhappiness with my life. And while I know that I could talk about some things in my childhood that are therapy-inducing, I also know that I shouldn't be as unhappy as I am.

You see for all the volunteering, and doing things for friends, and decent jobs that I have - I'm not really working towards anything. If someone asked me what my dreams are, I think I would have a hard time outlining something concrete.

And so? This is what I am doing.
Outlining some things in my life that genuinely bring me joy and from that - perhaps turning it into some sort of Bucket List.

And no. I'm not going to make it up on the spot, and force you to see my drafts right now. I think it's a project worthy of some time and polishing. I will perhaps post it up later - with some long and short term goals, maybe with some pretty pictures.

But I am curious- what's on your list? What thing is on your list that is totally uniquely you?? (i.e "Travel more" does not qualify. "Travel to Transylvania to party with Dracula" totally does)

xo

On Being "Curvy"

So like so many who have come before me- I have signed up for Weight Watchers. Go me.

Cause I? Am "curvy."

Blah blah. Exercise. Blah blah. Cut out carbs and sugar.

Duh.

I will freely admit: I hate getting sweaty. I hate the gym because I feel judged. I also hate the way I look.

I have started avoiding cameras. I can't stand catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I stared at the WW.ca website for days before I could bring myself to actually go weigh myself and finish the registration. Because I avoid scales like the plague.

This is not a particularly original post. So many of you can relate to this. And it's not really the point.

The point? My other blog. The one with the erotic writings. Through there I was directed to a site called Literotica. I posted some of my work on there and found a slew (slough?) of people who wanted to be pen pals. Lots of emails and feedback. Cool.

There is one person in particular though that I've been corresponding with for a few weeks now. He is an excellent, and rather imaginative writer and it's been interesting talking with him. And? He has a thing for "bigger" girls.

It's in his writing. It's in his messages to me. I've sent him the odd photo, and he keeps requesting more. He goes on and on about how he loves my curves - and then of course describes in great detail all the things he would like to do whilst exploring said curves.

And I? Am getting increasingly turned off. I don't understand why the focus needs to be so much on the size. It is actually resulting in making me more uncomfortable than if someone was simply not into me because I'm not tiny enough.

You see I'm not a fraction confident enough to own my curves and emphasize them. I don't want them to be worshiped. I don't want them to be the topic of conversation. I don't want them to be the object of...anything. I just want them to go away.

I suspect that men who have a "thing" for bigger girls feel that they are more enlightened than other men. Less shallow. But is that the case?

I would think that enlightenment would involve simply loving the person for who they are. Not because of the weight. Not despite the weight. The weight is just not even a factor.

I suppose the same argument could be made for anything- people of different race, sexual orientation, religion etc.

I've tried so hard to love myself for who I am. I know that I'm rather pretty. And I can look at other people who aren't tiny models and think that they are genuinely gorgeous. But I just can't look at myself the same way. So to have someone go on about it? Just makes me want to hide in a little corner and demand that they stop looking at me.

I find it hard to wrap my head around this. Is the problem simply with me and my self-esteem? Or am I on to something? Is this worship of the bigger girl simply a different kind of intolerance?

Either way. I just want to lose the weight and not have to worry about it. Apparently I have minimum 65 pounds to go. Ugh. One day at a time right?

xo