September 2009

It was a random day today: I wasn’t supposed to go to work, but I got called in anyway because of an emergency with our head server.  I managed to settle back in just in time to meet my mom somewhere for supper, and my writing circle for coffee, so I never got around to a nice, tight, organized blog post today.

But  . . . I did call back a date and gave honest feedback (because that became my policy after writing  the post “Throwing Like a Girl…”), gave my cats their flea medication, and did some laundry.  Oh, and earlier this week, I took my car in for maintenance and was able to offer my opinion on the state of my air filter, back tires, and struts. My poor daddy would have been proud of my knowledge, although I figure that’s  just the result of a daddy’s-girl’s habit of spending time with her dad while he was working on the family cars.  Maybe it’s also what happens when someone you love dies; you take in a portion of them for yourself to help fill the hole.  I have a little of his knowledge.  I have his chin and his ankles. I noticed, on my brother’s twenty-fifth birthday this month, that my brother is developing the same star-shaped fanning of smile lines around his eyes that my father had.  He also has Dad’s hands–broad-palmed, tough-tendoned, with untapered fingers.  Heck, he even chews a little on the skin around this thumbnails like Dad used to. Random, I know. But I noticed.  It’s in these little details that Dad still lives for us.  The rest of him is too far away to feel with any comforting immediacy (much like God himself these days.  Seriously.  Where is his influence in the world right now?).

I also read my friend’s writings today, and I watched some of the boob-tube for the first time this week. I just saw a preview for “Jennifer’s Body,” Megan Fox’s new horror-thriller-alien-porn-film.  And then I switched to Animal Planet. This random bit of poetry, which sounds a little like some of Tao Lin’s work, is what happened:

Wonder if Megan Fox feels

like those rare flatbellied lizards on TV

that are jumping and showing their

rainbow tummies

to fill their bellies with flies?


Dearest Readers and Fellow Bloggers,

I’ve been on a mini-hiatus from all-things-Internet (except for email, which I put on the same level as my cellphone in terms of communication) for the week.  Why? Because I’m trying to sort several things out at once.

For one thing, I’m considering quitting eHarmony. Not just because of the money (seriously, it’s like $30 per month, and that’s their best deal), but because of the fact that, frankly, it just feels too strange for me to keep sifting through pictures and 300-word profiles like I’m shopping in a catalogue.  I have heard of people finding Mr. Right in this fashion, but quite frankly, I’m thinking it’s the wrong way for me to go about it. Mom found her Mr. Right only when she gave up and told God to do the scouting and the matching for her.  God is more efficient, and he’s usually cheaper (although he sometimes incurs some charges for processing and shipping; more on that in later posts about why God gives and takes away).

Why all this thinking about God and matchmaking?  Why even think, at age twenty-two, so seriously about marriage?  For several reasons, actually, and I’ll be honest about them all:

  1. I held a baby tonight to give a mom a reprieve.  It not only earned me a nice tip, but I think my ovaries were screaming at me from all the cuteness.  The girl was cornsilk-haired and had a sanpaku gaze (yin, not yang).  So. Adorable.
  2.  Said baby not only approached me and put her hands on my child-bearing hips in a clear demand to get picked up, but she fell asleep while I was holding her.  Babies don’t do that stuff to perfect strangers unless God tells them to. Seriously. They don’t.  I therefore conclude that God’s telling me to be a mommy, and to start preparing emotionally and intellectually for the task.
  3. (I know my brother reads this blog, so I’d like to apologize for number 3 in advance). I think I like sex.  I can’t say for certain, of course, what with my intacta status, but all my hormones are fully functioning. As is my imagination. I’ve deduced that I am not called to singleness because of this; if I am so called, then God is meaner than I thought.  And not just to me.  I feel sorry for whatever guy might miss out if I removed myself from the sex-kitten pool.  I say that in all humility, and not just with full knowledge of what I look like naked…
  4. I think I have some things to offer in terms of my companionability, too.  I’ve been through a lot, and not much scares me anymore, let alone the rough patches of marriage. How many other girls  their early twenties can say that they’d already nursed someone who was going through a devastating illness?  Been the emotional support for someone who was facing the prospect of their own death? Learned to cook, clean, sew, and run a household?  Learned to budget?  Learned to laugh at the stupid little things and decide when to make their own fun during the dry spells and economic downturns?

And that’s about it for my reasons, but I think they’re good ones. You might think I’m full of it. If so, please comment.

So, now you know where I’ve been: off in my own world, contemplating marriage. Forgive me for my absence.

For my next trick, I’ll be forcing myself to write about an uncomfortable subject:  Naomi.  That’s right; she’s an important character study in the book of Ruth, too, and my own Naomi is a lot like her. I’ll let FB know when I update! 

Thanks for reading.  I mean it.






In addition to avoiding the computer for contemplative purposes, I was also avoiding looking at this until it officially came out today (presented by the actors themselves at the MTV VMAs, no less), and it made my otherwise very long night spent carrying trays and cleaning out soy sauce bottles much more interesting:

Twilighters, enjoy.  I know I did.  It looks better than the book, but I may just be saying that because I thought New Moon was Meyer’s second-weakest of the quadrilogy (Breaking Dawn being the worst because of the stretches in character and the way SM treats Edward like a caricature of himself).  Chris Weitz (the New Moon director) is made of WIN.  Just look at those gorgeous fursploding werewolves!  The vampy smackdowns!  It makes my geeky self very happy.  Can’t wait for 11-20, and apparently, neither can the aliens. Check out these crop circles:

New Moon Crop Circle/Maze, located in Utah.  Because theres nothing better to do in Utah than worship RPattz and TLaut.

New Moon Crop Circle/Maze, located in Utah. Because there's nothing better to do in Utah than worship RPattz and TLaut.

Full article here:

God, like the sneaky manipulator he is, has been working overtime lately to force me to recapture things that I’ve shoved aside/thought lost/let lazily slide during college and during the small stint I spent in emotional hell during my father’s illness:

1. My Spanish speaking skills. I’m using them all the time at work now, and so I’m having to review my AP Spanish verb charts and vocabulary during my downtime.  I can’t tell you how much more smoothly communication goes with our kitchen staff when I can just say what needs to be said in Spanish.

2. My instrumental skills.  My boss has recently discovered that I used to play flute (back before I fell in love with show choir), and has employed me to tutor his middle school-aged daughter with her own burgeoning flautist skills.  I’m having to pick up the rusty old thing and use my music theory knowledge all over again just to keep up with the kid.  I was never very good to start with, to be honest, so it’s a challenge.

3. My correspondence skills.  With no time to actually talk to people during decent living hours, I’m now emailling, texting, blogging, and Facebooking on those nights when I don’t come home exhausted from work.  This week, God also gave me laryngitis, or at least allowed me to get it, which means I really can’t talk to people.

4. My love for certain books. I’ve recently picked up one of Francine Rivers’ best series, The Mark of the Lion. I read these babies in high school, but they’re speaking to me again now, as is the scriptural wisdom imparted in the context of the story.  I also had the weird desire to reread Lord of the Rings  the other day (I’m due; I try to reread them every seven years). 

Ruth has picked up LotR again.  Elijah Wood is just as confused as to why she's done so as Ruth is.

Ruth has picked up LotR again. Elijah Wood is just as confused as to why she's done so as Ruth is, but he sure looks cute when he's quizzical.

Not sure what that’s about.  Maybe it’s because one of my girlfriends got to talking about Viggo Mortensen (Where the heck did he go?  He was completely BAMF as Aragorn. Has he gone back to his poetry?)  and Elijah Wood (Frodo, now an independent film producer/recording label owner–and almost thirty years old. I know. I can’t believe it either).  Whatever the cause, the book is back by my bedside.

5. My vision. I finally went to the eye doctor after–oh, two years?  No idea, really.  But I’m way overdue, and I’ve gotten blinder in my dominant eye.  It’s time for new contact lenses before I have a car accident.  I should also probably have that freckle on my cornea looked at before it turns into cancer. . . although I almost don’t care if I get cancer; both parents had it by age fifty, so I figure I’m kinda screwed either way.

But with all of this revisiting of lost skills and interests, I’m also finding that I’m running low on time outside of work.  My mother (poor Naomi) rarely sees me until late at night; my dating life has dropped off considerably because of my weird (weekendless) waitressing schedule; and with school starting up again for most of my friends, my social life has taken another nosedive; also, I’m having trouble getting the physical energy to attend dance classes at night and to head to church in the early morning before my Sunday lunch shift.  Being sick doesn’t help much, either. I feel like sleeping all day long on my days off.

As a result, almost all of my energies are funnelling into my housework, my bookshelf, my bed, my computer, or–usually–the restaurant and the folks inside of it.

I have to wonder now whether God is returning me to my old studies and interests for a purpose (why? what?) and if he’s intentionally walling me in socially for some reason (again, why?). 

If he’s refining me, he’s choosing an interesting way to do it.  I’m not sure I like it.  I’m afraid–very afraid–that this is the path one goes down to become and old maid.

I hope God knows what he’s doing; that’s all I can say.