Becoming Something

Monopoly hell and swine flu

Our family is playing Monopoly.   Yes, right now.  Why am I blogging, then?  So I don't kill myself.  The only thing worse than playing Monopoly is playing Monopoly with five people. And some of them are frequently loud for no reason *cough* Josie *cough*.  In fact we've instituted a $10 fine for shrieking for no reason.

We've been playing for 45 minutes and I only just made it past Go.  If my strategy was to creep along the ghetto, buying Baltic and St. Charles Place because I may never even see Boardwalk from a distance never mind visit it or buy it, then you could say I'm the savviest player ever.  While everyone else was whipping around the board, buying up all the sexy real estate, I was starting to think the best I could hope for was owning all of the fuchsia property because I'd roll a two and then a one.  I seem incapable of rolling anything past a three, so it seemed logical despite the fact that we're playing with two dice.

Alas, no such luck.

Hey, I did manage to snag New York Avenue and I've yet to lash out in any way that might land me in jail-- no theft of Park Place, no indecent exposure.  So, I may not be a tycoon but I am really holding it together.

. . .

Just when the injustice was so palpable that I was going to be scraping it from my tongue before bed, I landed on Boardwalk.  And OH did I buy it.  I bought it with pomp and circumstance.  I bought it all over the place.  Then, just as I was about to explain The Law of Mom Karma-- the woman who made the playing of Monopoly possible by spitting the swine flu-coughing players forth from her womb garden gets her cosmic just desserts-- I realised I had moved the wrong piece.

No Boardwalk for me.  But, I did manage to make it past Go!

I had the opportunity to buy Oriental Avenue but by that point I was too comfy in my crack house ghetto.  I didn't need no rich ghetto.  We are who we are.  We can hope for Boardwalk but when you're getting by in life, four Baltic rent fee dollars at a time, stuffed in your bra, let's be real:  you're never gonna be more than Baltic.  If you're really, really lucky, you'll stop narrowly missing Boardwalk and landing on Go three times in a row and you'll take just one more step over to Mediterranean and then maybe you can build houses and when people trespass on your property they'll have to pay you TWENTY DOLLARS.  Then maybe you can buy some milk for your 67 cats.

. . .

On the plus side, Montana, who was near broke just landed on Free Parking and scooped the pot, making Daisy, who practically IS the bank over there on the other side of the table, cry, "Games are not fair!"

Tell me about it.  I just passed Go only to have to give my $200 to Income Tax.

And Jude, the man I let sleep in my bed, just offered me Mediterranean for my Reading Railroad.  Reading Railroad that cost me $200 to buy, my only good fortune in this game, for a $60 Mediterranean. AND HE SAID IT WITH A STRAIGHT FACE.  "I'm just trying to help you out," he said. "So, you can upgrade from welfare to maybe a nice job at McDonald's."  Not that we'd make fun of people on welfare or working at McDonald's.  Ahem.

But nevermind.  I just landed in jail.  I think I'll just chill here for a bit.  There's a guy here in leopard print with a really nice cane and he winked at me.  I think my luck might be turning.

Daily Gratitudes

1. Daisy, the Girl of A Hundred Expressions, is really cute tonight, especially with all her pathetic swine flu coughing.
2. It's almost bedtime.
3. I have a brand new Dove cucumber antiperspirant to break in.  Always nice to have something to look forward to.
4. Jude and I are going to watch Shaun of the Dead tonight.  A British spoof on Dawn of the Dead.
5. I actually just lost the Monopoly game by $15.  To Daisy.  Which makes me happy because then life can be more fair for her.  I already had low expectations.

You'll enjoy reading this, I think, because it's loose and casual and fun

[Blogger's note:  I don't usually have such stream-of-consciousness blog posts like this, especially not journal-y ones but I think you'll enjoy the break of pace and I found it enjoyable to write.]

We went to Edmonton to get me a passport.  Unlike what everyone told me, it was a brief wait made enjoyable by conversations with strangers, and I'll be able to pick up my passport in a few days before I fly out.  Everything has been working so smoothly for me lately.  Well, aside from my day of parenting hell a couple of posts ago.  Aside from THAT.  It's like I have awesome karma and the power to make things BE.  Even with my birth certificate.  I couldn't find it anywhere and had to order a new one.  I ordered it from Ontario with a guaranteed five day delivery.  Got here the next day!  AWESOME.  (Oh.  Some of you don't know.  I'm going to Wales to see My Burtons and to get a much-needed break from me and my life, to gain some perspective and come back ready to tackle this Becoming Something with a little more commitment.)

Anyway.

We ate at The High Level Diner, a fabulous tiny spot that always has a wait time.  The food is healthy and gourmet and inexpensive averagely-priced and there's a lot of original art on the walls for sale.  I had basil, pecan, and goat cheese stuffed sole with a lemon butter sauce and it was divine.  Maybe I'll make it in Wales.

Daisy, our gorgeous 6-year-old was really hungry and she had turned on her Child Fabulous personality that we haven't seen in a while.  She can be extravagantly dynamic and enjoyable such that it's impossible to not imagine every single person ever of All Ever falling in love with her.  Unfortunately, you can imagine how far the opposite end of the spectrum goes.  Woe to the man who marries her.

So, she was laughing and grinning up to her temples and telling Jude that she was going to eat him and just being terribly silly.

"I'm so hungry I could eat a ton of people.  I would eat all the people in France and all the people in China.  And then I'd be so fat that I'd have a biiiig burp.  And they'd all come out with slobber all over them and in pieces." 

And then she laughed somewhat maniacally.

Maybe that doesn't sound as funny and charming to you as it was to me but keep in mind she has been a nightmare for months.  It was like coming out of solitary confinement in Croatia, for me to see her this silly and fun.

It's been nice for Jude to have every August Friday off. Genius, really.  Every week should be a four day work week.  I might be able to do right by Michael Jackson and heal the world and make it a better place if only there were more four day work weeks.

We drove home listening to some soothing French singing and climbed into bed and napped.  I woke up in that really groggy state where it's kind of unpleasant but also kind of fantastic?  And we had a simple supper-- actually, wait.  I only had blueberries because I ate a wheelbarrow's worth of food at lunch (like, EVERYBODY'S leftovers) and Jude made the kids something and I don't even know what because I didn't leave the sofa.  It was awesome.  So, I actually have no idea how "simple" it was.

Then I tucked the kids into our bed for their Friday Night Sleepover tradition where we let them sleep in our bed until it is time for us to climb in and then we put them all back in their bed.  I'm such the slacker.  That's like, our only tradition.  And it's great because it means I only have to go to one bedroom, they all say their prayers, and that's it.  It's like, a tradition where I don't have to DO anything.  I should be marketing this brilliance of mine.

So, I come downstairs and Jude has weird look on his face.  And he's watching Oprah.  I know.  FREEEAK!  And it's an episode about straight women who have fallen in love with other women-- ahem-- and he's wondering why the recording is protected from deletion on our PVR.  And I honestly have NO idea.  Maybe God recorded it for me and protected it because he knew we would want to watch it.  I have the tv set to automatically record and store up to five Oprah episodes and I haven't even watched Oprah in months.  I haven't watched tv in months.  I swear I've never seen this episode, never mind set it to elite protection status.  So, we're watching this episode together and having a lot of discussion and this woman who was married for 25 years says, "It's not about sexuality; it's about identity."  And that's where we paused it because ohhhh, we completely disagree with that statement.  I think it's the exact opposite.  If sexuality is as fluid as Kinsey asserted-- and I absolutely believe it is, and the expert on the panel says it is more so with women-- then that's not about identity.  Especially as it changes over time, as it has with me.  I range between 2 and 4 on the Kinsey scale so I think my opinion on the matter means uh, volumes to the study of this topic.  Right?  Like, duh.

So, then Jude asks me if I've seen the catalogue he brought home of kid beds.  I must repent for telling him he doesn't get excited about stuff and edit that to read that he doesn't get as excited about stuff as I do.  Because how freakin' adorable is it that he saw this shop that had kid beds in it that had canvas toppers that turned them into castles and play forts and he had to go in and he brought home the catalogue and was all, "Wouldn't it be great to get something like this?" when our kids have perfectly fine beds (Josie's is brand new) and he's not one to want to buy a lot of stuff.  And also, the stuff isn't that impressive.  I see things like this in magazines and online all the time. 

"You're so sheltered", I said.

"Yes, sheltered in my cozy little world of violent, degenerate crime." And he tapped his finger tips together, fiendishly. (He puts people in jail for a living. Sort of.)

Finally, Jude had, well, peed about a minute before I needed to do the same.

"It smells like apple juice in here," I said.

"Well, that's because I've been carefully working on a formula for my urine to have a commercial resale value."

And I laughed and laughed and laughed.

"You're such an easy laugh."

"It's a very happy way to be."

And then I came and wrote all this down.

THE END.

Daily Gratitudes

1. Jude made me a nice cup of fake coffee which I am drinking from the mug I made Louise for her birthday.
2. The mug I made Louise turned out really well.  I impress myself occasionally.  Okay, so all the time.  But it never gets old.
3. I've had this weird, nice feeling of peace all day.  I'm very calm and lack ambition and don't even feel bad about it.
4. I love the built-in book shelves in my living room.
5. I'm going to LONDON, baby!  Now, tell me:  What should I say to Jude Law when I bump into him?  I'm probably not going to have enough time to have him fall in love with me as per #67 on my life to-do list on the right there, but I'll need to have something unstupid to say.  Seriously, I seem to be attracting to me all sorts of good things right now.  I've been predicting stuff that has come true.  I'm like, tuned in to things.  So, I would not be the least bit surprised if I bump into Jude Law.  I don't REALLY think it will happen but it's good to be prepared.  So, what the heck do I say as a conversation starter? :-)

The freaks your mother warned you about: Bizarre Google searches

These are the bizarre Google searches that have brought people to my blog.  I didn't include the really offensive ones. 

"live in chastity belt married"  -- You might wonder why someone needs a chastity belt when they're  married.  Like, maybe if you're not ready for sex, don't get married.  Because to marry someone and then never have sex with them really redefines the word "tease".  Unless you got forced into marriage by your sexist religion but then you'll probably be killed for donning a chastity belt because some religions are like that.  But after seeing sooooooo many people finding my blog after searching for chastity belts, I clued in that some people just have a chastity belt fetish.  (Where did I write about chastity belts?  The blog post where I got my braces off is called "Braces: the chastity belt for your mouth".  Also, a ton of people search for info on braces.)

"make your own chastity belt" -- I believe it's called "self-control". 

"chastity belt teeth" -- If your chastity belt is made of teeth, I think that leaves the "fetish" category and enters the "I'm disgusting and should be hidden from society until Christ comes" category.

"chastity belt crazy glue" -- Oh, poor girl.

"what happens when you eat sitting down" -- Someone searched this a couple of times and stayed here for a LONG time.  I'm going to guess that the food goes down your esophagus, into your stomach, then on to your small intestine, then your large intestine and then out your bum.  But what do I know?  Everything I know I learned from The Magic School Bus.

"another word for being in a bad mood" -- Um, "thesaurus".

"babysiter [sic] sleeping naked" -- Babysitters are not supposed to be sleeping OR naked, unless you live in a nudist colony.  If you come home and your babysitter is sleeping naked?  She's probably coming on to you.

"bad things about Mormons" -- FREAK ALERT! There are no bad things about Mormons. We're perfect.

"big fish lyrics you've got to move along I believe in something beautiful to see move a long [sic]" -- It's GREAT BIG SEA, not "big fish". *eyeroll* Some people have no class whatsoever.

"sociopathism" -- You mean SOCIOPATHY?

"eating cod sperm" -- That's real.  People do that.  I wrote a post about it somewhere. I saw it on that gross jobs show.

"'heard moaning' sex" -- Well, that can happen.

"pee + straitjacket" -- If you're in a straitjacket, peeing should be the least of your concerns.

"about salmon angel hair straighteners" -- WTH?!

"chastity devices for gay boys" -- Just tell them God hates them.  I hear that works.

"chloroform book stalkers" -- If I ever have a band, I'm naming it this. Obviously.

"cockroachers [sic] worms bugs sex" -- Sounds like a good time.  (Call me.)

"do china people throw the baby girls in the park" -- You mean CHINESE people?  That's what people who live in China are called.  And oh gosh I hope not.

"do cockroaches eat eyebrows" -- COCKROACHES EAT ANYTHING.  They are Satan's minions.  They never die.  Even if you fashion a little cockroach guillotine and chop them into sixteenths, they will regenerate and now you'll have sixteen cockroaches and yes, they will eat your eyebrows but who cares because, dude, they're just on their way to your EYEBALLS.  Sweet dreams.

"do female mormons get their virginity checked before marriage in temples" -- FREAKIN' BAPTIST ANTI-MORMON VIDEOS!  First of all, that's so offensive.  You don't have to be a virgin to get married in the temple.  Duh.  Secondly, YOU CAN'T TELL IF SOMEONE'S A VIRGIN EVEN BY A VAGINAL EXAM.  *bangs head on table repeatedly*

"do people eat cod sperm" -- I know.  It's hard to believe, but YES THEY DO.

"do roaches eat toenail clippings" -- THEY EAT EVERYTHING, I TELL YOU!  They are coming for your soul.  Sleep tight.

"dog not eating is something wrong?" -- Um.  YES.

"flimsy straitjacket" -- I know, I have this problem too.  Our dinner guests are always able to get away, despite our best efforts.

"fruitarians are stupid" -- I can't disagree with you.

"from: somethinggirl sex" -- *scoff*  Who?  ME?

"fruit in foreplay" -- You did NOT get this idea from me.  Being covered in sticky fruit juices does not turn me on.  (But if you've got worms, cockroaches, and bugs, call me. *wink*)

"genitals" -- I'll play your little game:  Livers.  Elbows.  Belly buttons.  Gall bladders.

"girlfriend peeing on camping trip" -- Ya, I don't let my girlfriend do that.  Straitjacket time.

"help I'm living with Mormons!" -- Run away quickly before they are nice to you!

"how big is cod's sperm" -- Why? Hungry?

"hot air balloon door knobs" -- Another great band name.

"how can I tell what god wants me to do" -- Oh.  That's easy.  Have you heard of the $1000 miracle?  Give  me $1000 and I'll explain it to you.  

"how do I make my personality" -- One part celebrity worship, two parts what everyone else is doing, two parts change yourself to accomodate different situations, one part join a cult like Mormonism.  Simple. 

"how do i say thank you to someone who thinks i'm pretty" -- You say, "I can tell you think I'm pretty.  Thank you."

"how many times has jude law been married" -- Well, I wouldn't know.  I only joke about fancying him.  I'm not the type to care about celebrities, really.  (Okay, don't tell anyone I know this:  He was married once to Sadie Frost, and they had three kids.  Then they divorced though I think he still has the hots for her, and he was engaged to Sienna Miller, who is very pretty but scrawny as heck, and he cheated on her with the cute nanny that his ex-wife hired to help him with the kids, which was probably sabotage, and since then he's been dating a bunch of women when he's not stalking me and he got some unnamed woman pregnant recently and while John suspected it was me, I'm not at liberty to discuss it.  Also, Jude Law's sister is named Natasha.)

"how to become awesome" -- Well, just hang out with me a little longer.

"how to freeze boiled cabbage" -- Don't!! Just don't! What, are you trying to kill a small town?!  Boiled cabbage shouldn't even exist in the first place, never mind preserved in a LESS desireable state. Horrifying.

"how to know if my teen is depressed or just grieving" -- Well, if your teen has something to grieve, then s/he's probably grieving and I don't know anyone who is HAPPY while grieving so... does it matter what you call it?? 

"how to look sexy at the gym" -- Olivia Newton John really set the bar, but I would just add holding your mouth in an O shape and saying "ooh" a lot, with every rep.  That's how I lost ten pounds.

"how to pull an invisible string from someone's hand" -- Is this hard?  It's invisible.  You get to make the rules when doing invisible things.

"i want to not poop for a day" -- I'd suggest you stop eating.  Or I hear cheese will do it.  Lots of cheese.

"i'm in love with a mormon" -- I don't blame you.  Happens to me all the time.

"miracle sky fruit" -- Another awesome band name.

"is there any benefit in using preparation h on your belly a few days in a row?" -- Do you often get told you're a giant hemmeroid?

"is sleeped a real word" -- NO.  Wait-- it depends.  What language? 

"trapped in a chastity belt"  -- It's a chastity belt, idiot. That's the point.

"was there anything that could have been done to save Natasha?" -- Probably.  But it's too late now. 

"what does cod sperm taste like" -- Like shame.

"where to buy anniston's dress marley pool" -- You mean the dress that Jennifer Anniston wore in Marley & Me, the movie that was set in the '90's??  Check the Salvation Army.

"oh my goodness david sedaris is gay" -- Shocking, isn't it?  I thought that stopped being trendy last year. Huh.

Daily Gratitudes

1. I'm kind of depressed, actually.  Hence the above sarcasm.
2. Um...  I haven't been too tired lately.
3. My kids have been pretty happy and summer is almost done.
4. God loves me.
5. So does Jude.  And I don't mind him either.

How to become a really popular blogger

Becoming Something... Where life meets liff.... One day at a time.... Sippy cups and soap operas (and bonbons)....  Because it's rhymey timey.... Random nothingness absurdity from my desktop/yap/questionable sanity.... Making people yawn one blog post at a time.... Like one thing, only not....  Vodka and diapers....   

Hmm.  It's so hard to pick.  

Maybe you're like me:  you've been hanging out in the blogosphere and you're feeling insecure because you don't have a blog tagline or slogan.  Well, I figured out the formula.  Together, we can find our perfect taglines and soar to bloggy popularity.

How to find your blog slogan:

1. Be self-deprecating.  Heaven forbid you actually pretend to think you're smart/clever/cool.  We don't want you to LIKE yourself or anything.
2. Make it rhyme.  We're all 5-year-olds inside, really.  Who doesn't giggle over a good rhyme?
3. Try to squeeze in the phrase "at a time".  Anything "at a time" will do. 
4. Two short sentences is ideal.  Because it surprises people.  They'll think you're done, that you've made your point but then you'll totally surprise them with your NEXT sentence and they'll be all, "Whoa. I didn't see THAT coming!  That totally changed the meaning of her first sentence!  I was all judgemental of her for a second there but I'm repenting now because she wasn't even done what she was trying to say!"
5. If you're a mom, you HAVE to say something about pacifiers, cookies, crackers, crumbs, sippy cups, stretch marks, puke... whatever. Just pick anything that's banal and/or messy.
6. Also, if you're a mom, you could mix two things that don't typically go together: one adult and one childlike.  Alcohol is popular for mixing with a baby product like bottles, sippy cups, and pacifiers. Anything that would go into a kid's mouth.  You could say something about sex beside the crib... but let's be real-- most moms don't have a lot of sex anyway so no one would believe you. Credibility is important here.
7. Add "Because" to the beginning of your slogan. Without it, we're all wondering what you're doing on the internet. You don't have a right to be here and share your thoughts unless you have a good "because".  And without "because", the rest of your slogan would never make sense!
8. THEN, combine at least two of these and you're golden!  

If you can do this, people will read your blog.  If you don't do it, how is anyone supposed to know it's a blog??! It's not like the date format gives a clue. The lack of a shopping cart, the title at the top and the barage of cute little buttons and links on the side could mean ANYTHING! 

And you HAVE to sum up your entire blog in that one sentence, obviously.  That's where the word "life" comes in handy.  "At a time" is just a clever way of suggesting that it's about life via the passage of time.

You're welcome. 

Daily Gratitudes

1. How often can I express gratitude for cooler weather?
2. I think tomorrow is a holiday. ? Which means as soon as Jude is done work, he's home for a while. I need him right now.
3. An awesome babysitter.
4. Josie made breakfast this morning and last night she ASKED ME what she could do to help me clean up.
5. I found my scriptures. They were under the livingroom chair. Because why not?

Scrapbooking: It's all Satan's fault

I am Mormon and a mother and 29 and I don't scrapbook. This is apparently remarkable. You know  scrapbooking has taken over a segment of society when the word becomes a VERB.

I used to scrapbook. Sort of. I have an album I made for Montana when he was a baby because a woman at church bought me a kit as my baby present and of course I was a new mom of a baby so I had nothing to do. It's hideous. An embarrassment to die cuts, paper, and stickers everywhere. That's all that existed back then, really. There were no cool eyelets and clothing tags and human bones in the shape of hearts. What's that? There are still no human bones in the shape of hearts, you say? Wait a month. Provo Craft is working on it.

My first and main gripe with scrapbooking is that it's got out of hand. When a woman shows her scrapbook to another woman, she does so in the hopes that her scrapbooking skills will be lauded. The photos are secondary. "Oooh, I like what you did here!" "Where did you get the clothing from genuine African refugees that were fashioned into pleated photo frames?!" Who would even notice the photos after layers and layers of decoration? And don't pretend that you didn't take that photo just because it went with your stickers.

My second gripe with scrapbooking is that it's indulgent. Costly. I bet that some women spend thousands a year on scrapbooking. And they'll say that it's a good cause because "it's journaling!" So is blogging, and it's free. I predict that in the next five years, people will be able to buy insurance for their scrapbooks. You could travel for that same amount of money!

My third gripe is that I could learn a new language or teach my dog to cha-cha in the time I could spend scrapbooking. Think of all the time you scrapbookers could spend doing something really important, like blogging.  And what kind of mother would I be if, when I die, I didn't leave my children a disorganised photo mess both on and offline to help distract them from their grief?

My fourth gripe is that it's freakin' messy. Entire rooms are devoted to scrapbooking. They're often called "craft rooms" but it's all scrapbooking stuff spread out everywhere. And that's if families are lucky. Some families have to pick paper corner snips out of their dinner and pretend that the glitter in their hair that somehow found its way into the basement bathroom is deliberate accessorising.

You will not be able to take your scrapbook with you when you die, nor will your kids. Sure, you're leaving it for your great-grandkids, who, by then, will have all photos and information uploaded to the Facebook chip that's burrowed in their brains, except that you're not really going to have great-grandkids because everyone knows that the Savior is coming soon. Okay, then there's the Millenium. But after those 1000 years, the scrapbooks are defunct. You'll have to rely on your perfect, resurrected memories.

And that's what I'm waiting for. Who says I'm impatient? 

[All photos stolen from a Google Image search which I will keep up until the unlikely event occurs that the owners of the photos ask me to take them down because I didn't ask for permission to use them because what was I going to say-- "Can I use this photo in a blog post that mocks scrapbooking? NO? Why not?"?]

Daily Gratitudes

1. Mike cared enough to leave a nice comment, even though I make him shake his head and roll his eyes and he's sooooo glad that we're not related in any way. ;-) Said comment made my day. Or my next couple of hours. We'll see. The day still looms.
2. Another sunny day.
3. I'm still not depressed again.
4. I have these iPod earbuds that look so trashed. The wires are exposed at the bottom, where it plugs in to the unit and the sheathing is snipped further up along the cord and the rubber that goes around the buds is off... but they still work fine. Maybe not for long, but these are the GOOD earbuds because our other ones only have one working side since I dropped the other side in the bath. Interestingly, if you drop one in maple syrup, while eating Sunday breakfast in bed, just lick it off and you'll be fine.
5. Electricity.

It's all Satan's fault

Check out this post by Melissa at Mormon Mommy Wars. Are these not things I've said on this blog a few times?

I got a comment to yesterday's post that ignored my request for no advice or lecture. The sister meant well. She was very impassioned and I believe she truly cares and that's the most important thing. Still. It annoyed me.

She all but said that the reason I feel so depressed is because of Satan. Maybe someone of a similar mind set can explain this to me:

"Just, PLEEEEEEZE, face up to the REAL thing / battle going on here.
The DESTROYER (one of his main titles / yes, I've met him and been challenged) wants to destroy you and yours...and the generations waiting yet to be born and KNOW your incredible potential.
THE SAVIOR is stronger. The SAVIOR can SAVE you through the POWER of the Atonement that CAN ..in EVERY WAY heal your pain / weakness / AFFLICTIONS / doubts / dark thoughts....ANY and EVERY thing in your head and heart.
It IS THAT SIMPLE. FIGHT with the purity of understanding WHO you are fighting. NOT yourself. Just the BAD GUY, the WORST , the main 'crap-giver' !!!!!!!"

Do some people really believe that all struggles are because we're letting Satan have power over us and we're not turning to the Saviour, and that the Saviour can fix everything?

'Cause that's not true.

"It IS THAT SIMPLE." It doesn't sound simple to me at all because no instructions were given. What do I do? Just believe? Pray 7.5 times a day? Think about Jesus every moment? What are the instructions?

Yes, Jesus can help us and heal us but it happens OVER TIME. If it was so easy to be healed of everything then we'd all be gettin' healed. It's not all going to happen tomorrow. And that's exactly what I'm complaining about. I can receive peace and reassurance through prayer but He's not going to make my kids shut up. He's not even necessarily going to, with the snap of His fingers, turn me into someone so patient that the noise isn't grating, just because I asked. He's not going to take away my attraction to women, just because I ask.

Some things in life suck and that's all there is to it and it has nothing to do with Satan or Jesus. Some things are SUPPOSED to suck. Noise is noisy. Being physically unwell is difficult. Having kids with problems is heartwrenching. I know these are facts of life but it doesn't mean I have to like it all the time. I'm not even sure it's possible to not be overwhelmed sometimes. Jesus felt overwhelmed when he asked Heavenly Father to please remove his bitter cup in the Garden of Gethsemane. True, he was enduring something much more difficult than I am but... he's Jesus. I haven't walked on water yet.

When my husband complains about dealing with criminals all day, and talking to molested kids, no one tells him that if he cleaved unto Jesus more, that he would stop hating his job. When a high school teacher has rough day at work with snotty kids who don't listen, does anyone tell him that it's because of Satan?

Victor Frankl managed to find happiness in a concentration camp but that doesn't mean that all the other people who were unhappy and depressed and angry about being starved and overworked and abused were not cleaving unto the Saviour enough or were falling prey to Satan.

"Believe, please believe, it can all be better IF you turn an open heart with trust and a desire to receive .....focus on Jesus.
That one thought, moment to moment.
Literally.
NO other reasoning, no complication.
JESUS. REceive ALL HIS ATONEMENT power..light...LOVE.
It WILL BE OKAY."

It can't "all" be better. It's not meant to be. No one can focus on Jesus moment to moment-- it's impossible. I need to think more than "that one thought". And if we needed "no other reasoning" besides Jesus then we wouldn't have LDS Social Services. We wouldn't have psychologists. Jesus doesn't heal from magic, just by us thinking about him. He provides us with resources and we work hard for it and in the meantime it's painful.

"Receive all his atonement." Uh, okay. What does that MEAN exactly, though?  Do I stand outside with my arms open wide and yell to the heavens, "I receive, Lord!"?

I pray. I am reading right now about Christ's atonement. I go to church and listen carefully. I take the sacrament. I think about it all. I'm doing what I can.

Religion is not magic and wasn't meant to be. Maybe it's statements like the above, that sound very much like that which Christian evangelists say, that cause non-religious people to say that religion is for the weak. Maybe they think that WE think that are problems just go away by symbolically giving them away to Jesus, like releasing a helium balloon into the sky. 

Advice to big problems that no one else can possibly understand without knowing ALL the relevant details is so patronising. That wasn't what bugged me, though. It was what I felt was a mis-communication of Mormon doctrine.

--------------------------

Speaking of religion and stuff that's not entirely true or worded kinda melodramatically, I saw this video last night and found it very funny. It's very irreverent... if you're a Christian evangelist. Like, if you don't think that Kenneth Copeland is the phoniest guy ever, then you might find this video offensive. I can see the humour in this without feeling like all of Christianity is being mocked. Because I don't see these as true representations of Christians. I think these are scammers pretending to be Christian. What-- like that's never happened before?

I mean, at the end, when they're just pushing people over? Awesome! And the Miracle of the $1000 Seed? Indeed! Ya, everyone knows about that one. And the melodramatic praying about being struck down if the requests for money are not really for the giver's best interest? Probably a genuine prayer, because it's on tv, I'm thinking. Doesn't the Bible say, "Forget your closet-- pray on tv! And ask for money because I'm more likely to answer their prayers when they give you money."? And what does it mean when she says, "The anointing flows"? I really don't know what that means.

Sorry for another downer post. I'm still grumpy. IN CASE YOU CAN'T TELL.

Daily Gratitudes

1. Chatting with Louise and John with Jude. My face is stuck on "Red No. 40" from all the laughing. I really needed that. Doesn't fix all my problems but it felt great.
2. Nice cool breeze.
3. Anna Junus.
4. Gabrielle.
5. My iMac.

Bell Expressvu: I want to kick you in the nads and feed you Exlax

I will confess upfront that I am foaming at the mouth. If you were here right now, Bell Expressvu, I'd be kicking you in the groin and lacing your food with Exlax. And I'd still be mad.

I just want a box sent to me. A label even. Just send me a label. Find a human who can print something on a computer and manually take it to your mail centre. That's all! Just a mobile human-- any variety will do-- with at least one working arm and a partially functioning brain. That's all I need. See? I'm not very demanding.

Your PVR player broke on me on New Year's-- right when we wanted to suspend all productivity and intellectual activity and just watch television. And all my husband's precious recorded movies like The Eagle Has Landed were lost.

I feel compelled to also point out to you that New Year's takes place in January, practically December. And it's July right now. I feel compelled to point this out to you because you're stupid. I feel compelled to point out to you that you're stupid because I think you're too stupid to have grasped the pointed insinuation that you're stupid. Let me know if that's too subtle.

Okay, so January to July is SEVEN MONTHS.

For seven months I have been waiting for a replacement box for the old receiver because my three-year-old ripped off the return label on the first box. Even a replacement label will do. I have phoned seven times.

You keep phoning me to point out that I have not paid this $600+ bill for the new PVR player. I keep pointing out that I'm never going to pay it. 

Your representatives keep telling me, "Don't worry, Mrs. Loewen. I will take care of this for you. I'm so sorry this has happened. This time you will receive a new box between 7 and 10 business days."

And I say, "Ya, I've heard that before."

And so when you cut off my service because I hadn't paid the bill, I phoned on June 3rd and spoke with a customer service representative. I was transferred to another representative in billing. I asked for someone high up in the department. I was transferred to another customer service representative named Ian. I asked if he was a supervisor. He said no. Didn't I just ask for someone high up in the department? Is your company policy to just pass phone calls down the line through each impotent person with an accent so strong I can barely understand their English and can't read their lips? 

I told Ian that I wanted to speak to a supervisor now. I had to wait from 10:03am to 10:15am to speak with Isabel. The call was broken up severely and she had to phone me back. This happens a lot when I phone Bell Expressvu: static calls. Aren't you a telecommunications company? Doh. There was still a lot of static when she phoned back but I managed to get my message across.

Isabel was lovely. She explained that your computer system has the IQ of a rock and unless she put another PVR onto my account and then reported it broken, the system would, like a stubborn 2-year-old, refuse to send me a box.  She sounded extremely confident (as had every other impotent person before her) that she had fixed my problem.

She contacted billing and had to fight with them on my behalf to get them to turn my service back on, explaining that none of this was my fault.

Because, do you realise, that if I had paid my bill, trusting that I'd get a refund once you received my old PVR receiver, that I'd be out $600 all these months? Thankfully, I'm a bazillion times smarter than that, approximately.

Isabel gave me the confirmation number 20090511144987 for this help ticket.

OKAY! So, you're all caught up. Ready?

Someone just phoned me this morning* from Bell Expressvu to ask me when I am going to pay my bill. I said, "NEVER."

I explained why. She told me-- HAHAHAHAHAHA-- that I should try phoning Bell about this! Thank you for calling me a big fat idiot, Lady.

I asked her if she had a special magical number that could actually accomplish this epic Lord-of-the-Rings-equivalent task of sending me a bloody box. She said-- excuse me while I wipe the tears away from my hysterically laughing eyes-- that I should try 310-BELL.

"You mean the number for Ontario? I'M IN ALBERTA, REMEMBER?"

"Oh. Well, try your area code. Let's see... what's your area code...?"

"I KNOW MY AREA CODE. It's 403."

"Right. Okay, well try 403-310-BELL."

After I a-righted my eyeballs that got stuck in the back of my head, I tried that number. Of course it didn't work at all. I might as well have dialed KILL-ME-NOW. (Which definitely wouldn't do anything because it's not even the same number of digits as a phone number. Also, New Year's is in January.)

So, I phoned 1-888-SKYDISH, a number I memorised a long time ago, and spoke with a man in the escalation department who had the nerve to tell me, "This is not a problem."

And for the first time in seven phone calls and multiple people, I was snotty with someone. Okay, so I was a little bit snotty with the woman who phoned me today from Billing. Still. Seven months. Pat my back.

So, apparently, the reason I have not received a box yet is because this issue was not "flagged" with an "escalated" "confirmation number". Something like that. WHATEVER. I'll believe it when I see it.

The man asked me to write down a confirmation number.

"HA! Why exactly should I DO that? I have done that before. It gets me nowhere. It's only a record of incompetency."

"You have a confirmation number from before? It's not showing up."

"Yes, I do." Because I wrote it all down because I knew that Isabel, as lovely as she was, would also fail to rescue the princess like all the other princes before her. And I knew I'd write about it on a blog. I gave him the confirmation number.  Guess what that accomplished. DIDDLY SQUAT.

Shocker, I know.

I should start giving confirmation numbers to my friends and family when I have no intention of carrying out a task. "Sure, I'll fold your underwear later, Husband. Your confirmation number is 20034875640283756264852758593. If you forget this number, I cannot help you. If you write this down it will also accomplish nothing. Now let me get back to Twittering."

So. The fate of our relationship hangs in the balance. Will Natasha ever receive this elusive cardboard contraption? Will Bell Expressvu develop the capacity to accomplish a simple task? Will Natasha's service get cut off again?

STAY TUNED!

In the meantime, Bell, my new confirmation number is 20090709135142. Enjoy bouncing it around between your hands and tickling its belly and pulling a quarter out from behind its ears.

Me? I'm unsure what to do from here. I'm tempted to not pay my bill until I get cut off again and then never pay it ever and specify in my will that NO ONE is to ever pay it on my behalf. Because our credit is so good that this little kick in your nads is unlikely to affect our score. In fact, it would only affect MY credit rating and it's really my husband's credit rating that we live off of .

Not like you care anyway, you rich Incompetent.

By the way, I like roses. And massages. And lobster. And you already have my address.

* Post was written yesterday. Only posted today.

Daily Gratitudes

1. We've got a fence going up.
2. My dog chases down and eats moles. How cool is that?
3. Going to paint some pottery with Daisy today.
4. It's finally sunny.
5. Our garden is growing.

How to be in a bad mood

1. Stay up late watching The Proposal with your man. So funny.
2. Get through church having only yawned 30ish times. You're looking forward to that Sunday Afternoon Three-Hour Nap.
3. At lunch there's only unhealthy carbs to eat, unless you want to get really creative and MAKE stuff. You don't. You're tired. So, you eat a cheese bun and fresh spinach ravioli with parmesan and butter. It's good but does nothing for your weight loss goal and one day it would be nice to fit into more than one pair of jeans.
4. Look online for your friends in Wales. You seem to have missed them by an hour. Spend an hour putzing around the internet, hoping they'll be online again. WHY AREN'T THEY ONLINE?! It's been two whole days. Aren't they in Natasha [or whatever your name is] withdrawal? Finally realize that they probably decided to go to bed at a sensible hour for a change and resign to having to wait until they finish sleeping to find out how their weekend went and to ask why there aren't more photos of the London temple on Facebook. Geez. Sheesh.
5. Might as well go have that nap while your man goes home teaching. And again with the people in Wales.
6. The bed is soft and lush and once again you want to marry your bed but frankly, the premarital relations are sweet and you like your relationship just the way it is. You're deliciously groggy and exhausted.
7. Just as you fall asleep, a kid or two shrieks. Roll your eyes, grumble, curse your consistently bad Sunday Afternoon Three-Hour Nap luck. Once you've awakened, it's just about impossible to fall back asleep, even if that sleep only lasted 64 seconds.
8. Realize, holy carp, you're so tired that you can probably fall right back asleep again.
9. Do so.
10. Wake up again, shortly after drifting off because kids are all screaming at each other about something.
11. Breathe out purple mists of venom.
12. Decide to try to go back to sleep and failing that, decide that you're going to stay in bed as long as you please and fantasize about living in a cottage, about being rich, about fun you can't easily have because it's that time of the month AGAIN? ALREADY?
13. Decide that you hate men. Yes, those two thoughts are logically related. Are too.
14. Your man comes upstairs in his silky, worn, white cotton tee and why are his pecs so hard? Gosh, he feels good. He shows you his dimple. STOP SHOWING THAT DIMPLE.
15. ARRRGggghhhh.
16. He needs a nap and you need to make salmon for supper. Oh, and your son is making muffins BUT DON'T BE IMPATIENT.
17. THANKS A LOT, you think. Because you know what this means.
18. Your son is about to dig into cream cheese with a measuring spoon because the ONE CUP of sour cream the muffin recipe requires is moldy and this seemed like a logical substitution. THEY BOTH USE THE WORD "CREAM". And that whole situation just gets worse from there with kids getting stressed out and fighting and making a mess and YOU NEVER AGREED TO REFEREE THIS CARP. You HATE refereeing kid cooking. Especially when exhausted.
19. You start to make salmon. There's no lemon. Not a lemon in the house. What happened to the lemon? (Later your man tells you that someone knocked it into the sink. "But not me!" he says with, was that a hint of fear? Which is kinda funny. Is he afraid of your wrath? Heh. That's cute. Anyway, the implication is that he let it go into the garbage disposal. A perfectly good lemon all germed up, had to be ground up. And it's Sunday and you don't shop on Sunday.)
20. You use garlic, capers, and sliced cherry tomatoes.
21. Someone knocks on the door. It's a kid saying that your dog is in his yard. Your man's not fully dressed so you stomp barefoot across the street and your dog is in heaven because the best game in the world is Keep Away.
22. SHE DOES NOT COME WHEN YOU SAY COME. She's fast and keeps dodging you, the suicidal freak.
23. Your man comes out and tells the dog to come. The dog listens. He has treats in his hand but you don't think the dog even sees the treats. She just listens because it's HIM and he's the one who walks her every morning.
24. Your love for that dog vanishes. You breathe out small pox-laced purple venom with mini daggers. You yell at the dog to lie down and when she doesn't listen, you drive her head to the floor and yell at her and tell your man that you're getting a muzzle for this dog to teach her submission. Except that you can't think of the word "submission" because your entire brain is full of exhaustion, stress, and frustration. And not being able to think of a word you want to use when you're angry is second in frustration only to not being able to have sex when you want to.
25. Remember that punishing a dog after they do eventually come is terrible because it teaches them that obeying the command reaps punishment.
26. Stupid dogs. It's all their fault.
27. Supper is gross. The salmon is a tiny bit mushy and it doesn't taste like anything. You eat a piece of toasted bread crust with butter, which really suggests how depressed and peeved you are because you never eat bread crust because you're a princess.
28. Finish off a bottle of fake wine. No alcohol. It tastes similar because of the metabisulfate, you think. But, ya, it's not the same thing. Which is good because you'd be an alcoholic in the blink of an eye if it wasn't for the Word of Wisdom.
29. Complain to your man that Daisy's 6th birthday is on Saturday and you don't know what to do because she only wants a pool party and all her friends are already going to another party that day, to which she wasn't invited, probably because the mom doesn't like you, which is weird because you're so delightful. Realise that you don't want to do anything for Daisy's party because she isn't happy with anything anyway these days. But she's been talking about her birthday for A WHOLE YEAR, so the pressure is really on.
30. Oh, and your man's 45th birthday is on Thursday and you don't know what to do for THAT either. Because he's impossible to buy for.
31. And GEEZ, wasn't it just Father's Day??! How often do you have to do something nice for this man? EVERY MONTH?!?
32. Oh, and you have writer's block that makes you feel stupid and imagination-less.
33. And it's hot out. You hate being hot. Or cold.
34. What do you really need a uterus for anyway?

Daily Gratitudes

1. Jude is too good for me. Obviously.
2. My kids are healthy.
3. I managed to run 2 kms yesterday. Not bad for a beginner with flat feet and bad hips.
   And an annoying blister.
4. Remarks From Sparks is always good for a laugh and maybe a head shake or fifteen. ;-)
5. This Seabear song still does it for me. Mmmmm. The stress is diffusing.

Attempting to coherently read from David Sedaris' Me Talk Pretty One Day

So, I wanted to make a video that I could edit in iMovie. Ya. Turns out I have no clue how to USE iMovie. At least not to do anything other than compile two videos into one and upload it to YouTube.

Well, anyway, here you have a reading of David Sedaris, by me, trying not to laugh. I don't know about you but whenever I see people trying to deliver a line on tv, like on Saturday Night Live, and they're laughing when they're not supposed to, I laugh with them. Until I'm squeaking. Because nothing is more contagious than yawning laughing and someone who's trying to NOT laugh? That's hilarious.

Nevermind that David Sedaris is very funny in that dry way I love.

This book is not entirely Mormon-safe, I'm warning you. There is some bad language and, OH MY GOODNESS DAVID SEDARIS IS GAY! And not all of you might want to read references to gay living, though he left out all the Cher concert references.

But these essays I read, with Jude nearby to chuckle mildly at, are safe and dang funny. The second one gets cut off but oh well. You can head to the library to read the rest.

Mildly cheered up by the opportunity to be grumpy toward WinterSpring instead of grumpy toward myself

Inches of snow on the May long weekend is just not funny.  I've never experienced this in my life. And since I'm so terribly old-- I just had a birthday, remember-- that's saying something. 

I can't help but wonder if it's a sign of the end of the world as we know it. Spring forever in limbo: a few buds of green on 40% of the trees... shrubs I thought were dead in my yard until I realised that half the shrubs in our town have the same affliction. We will never be able to plant a vegetable garden. Or, I might have to start monitoring weather reports like some 80-year-old and run amble outside with my tarps and maybe a down duvet, like I need one more thing to mother. 

I cannot think of a single good thing to say about the snow. Don't tell me that it's good for farmers. Who eats food anymore anyway? I happen to know that there are portions of the population who survive on crystal meth and cigarettes alone and I manage to get by on something I've lovingly named Death Shakes: protein powder, vegetable powder, omega oils, water. This is the improved version of the shake. Surely, there are enough vitamins and water to let us get by for a year. Besides, I have my food storage-- don't you? 

Don't tell me it's pretty. If I redecorated your house in nothing but white and brown I know you would not find it "pretty" for more than a day. Or a week. Whatever. My point is that Spring has a certain "look" and this ain't it. "Pretty" in Winter is not "pretty" in Spring just like "pretty" while undergoing chemotherapy is not the same as "pretty" while talking about "opposite marriage" on a stage to Perez Hilton. And now I have to start crying about Grey's Anatomy again. See what you've done, WinterSpring?!!

All you Southern belles obliviously tanning your hide and picking your peaches:  The end of the world looms and it started in Canada. It's our revenge for you not allowing us to shop on PotteryBarn.com.

Daily Gratitudes

1. Nothing. Didn't you read the above? It's SNOWING. STILL. The snow is falling as I write this and it's the long weekend in May. The long weekend in May is when we Canadians, who don't live on the coast, plant our vegetable gardens. Sigh.
2. Okay, I thought of something:  Because it's so pointless doing yard work, we get to stay inside and catch up on all the needed cleaning since my sinus infection. Can you feel my enthusiasm?
3. I'm going to cheer myself up with food and comedy today. Hips be damned. Or darned. Or something more articulate.
4. Jude is vacuuming beside me right now. Man, it looks good on him.
5. Okay, there's also this: Jude, Montana and Josie were playing Risk behind me on the floor. Josie is probably not as loud as a lot of people's children but she's our loudest kid and I am sensitive to noise, which you'd know if you read my About Me page, not that I can think of a good reason why you'd do that. Anyway, she was saying something casually, really loudly. I said, "Hey, can you be a little louder? They can't hear you in Russia." Because, while a totally lame joke that someone probably invented in 1991, my kids had not heard it yet and I knew Montana would think I'm a comedic genius. After a beat, Josie said dryly, "Yes, they can. Our armies are right there." It was funny.

China builds sex theme park but don't worry-- it won't be "vulgar"

China is building a sex theme park called Love Land, because nothing says "love" like giant, disembodied genitals. 

Apparently there is a classy way to display giant genitalia. The park's manager says, "We are building the park for the good of the public. I have found that the majority of people support my idea, but I have to pay attention and not make the park look vulgar and nasty."

Ya, that plastic sculpture in the photo rivals the statue of David, wouldn't you say?

Sex is "a taboo subject in China and people need access to more information" so the park will include sex tips.  Because there are no libraries in China. Or internet. Or television. 

The sex park is for the GOOD OF HUMANITY, y'all. I smell a Nobel Peace Prize.

What qualifies as "taboo" anyway? How much public discourse on sex do we really need? As long as a society is able to discuss its problems related to sex, like teen pregnancy and STDs, as long as couples and perhaps friends feel comfortable discussing sex as needs be, as long as parents are comfortable discussing it with their children, as long as we have libraries of information and professionals to go to for help, I think we're pretty much covered. 

But our media would have us believe that sex is as important as breathing and eating. Do people realize that sex actually is a mere drive and not a biological need? 

I suspect that until sex becomes as impersonal and public as sports and grocery shopping, there will be people who will maintain that it is still taboo. This kind of obsession with sex-- this oppressive message that sex is no big deal and anyone who views it as sacred as well as fun-- threatens convictions to fidelity, which is the foundational virtue upon which healthy families (and thus societies) are built. How so? Well, if couples cannot be loyal to each other, keeping their families in one cohesive unit out of love for each other and their children, how much more unlikely are they to be loyal to their communities which are comprised of people whom they love less than their own families?  

Never in the history of the world has sex been such a big freakin' deal. Never has it defined people's identities until about 1870. Until then sex was a behaviour and a flexible one, at that. 

We're obsessed. Obsessed! I think it's sad.

How much do you want to bet that people at that theme park are going to be walking around with chocolate genitals on a stick?

Daily Gratitudes

1. Our nephew made us some doors for the bottom of our living room's built-in bookshelves. FINALLY. We've been in this house for almost a year and a half and the company that built the house was not willing to take responsibility for the doors that got botched by the company that the builder hired to paint the doors. After the painting company botched them TWICE (and everyone was in agreement on this) the builder said that it wasn't their problem because it was a private thing between the carpenter and I, even though I paid the builder for the job. YA. The only hatred I feel in my life toward anyone is the owner of this company. I know I shouldn't. But I've always been a very justice oriented person and that kind of unethical practice infuriates me, especially considering it's only one example of their unethical behaviour towards us and other people.
   
   Thanks. Had to get that off my chest. And now, I have doors. I need to paint them myself (after all that I'm not even willing to trust my nephew to paint them) but they're here and they're perfect. I should have kissed Curtis.
2. Jude went and planted a garden on a rented plot even though we have a plot at the back of our yard. I was annoyed because I hate going out there and we didn't even use all of our harvest last year and I said that this year let's just use the land we have here and if we don't let this bit go to spoil then next year we'll add a rented plot. BUT... he went ahead this morning and bought the plot and planted stuff with the kids. Why? Because the prophet said to. And he's devoted to going out every week to manage it. And I love that he did that, I must admit. He's a good boy, that Jude.
3. Jude's going to take a week off of work in September to help me can stuff because I've never done canning ever and it's a huge job. Right, Jude? Right? BOOK IT. :-)
4. My kids are pretty well-behaved. Don't think I'm not aware of how much luck is involved.
5. Izzy is so cute. She has a nice short snout and she's not scrawny like some labs I see. It's true what they say about beautiful dogs getting a free pass in life-- it's amazing what I'll forgive.
6. Free sod.

No cat-dogs, no green toilet flower arrangements, and no celebrities on Twitter. Because I said so.

You know how Quebec reserves the right to stop you from naming your kid something really stupid/cruel, like Lucifer, Spatula, or a French word that means "whore"?

Well, recently Gwyneth Paltrow, getting into the spirit of dictatorship, considered a rule that all members of her $4500-sign-up-fee gym need to adhere to a dress code so that her gym will be a pleasurable visual experience as well as a pleasurable(?) physical experience. [Source was offline, couldn't find online source.]

This makes perfect sense to me.

While American Libertarians would choke to death on indignation over this, I believe in even greater suppression of free will for the betterment of... well, my life. Why stop at baby names?  A name is relatively harmless, proved by Stephen Dubner and Steven Levitt in Freakonomics. Also, it certainly doesn't affect me much if your name is Spatula. Why stop at dress codes? Dress codes should be the starting point.

What bugs me are people who gesture for me to turn left at a four-way stop, when they are making the same turn, only as a right-hand turn. I want to scream out, "Guess what? We'll both start going at the same time and you'll STILL beat me around the corner and then NEITHER of us has to wait or play the go-no-you-go-no-YOU-go game."  I believe there should be a $1000 fine for this.  POLITENESS CAN GO TOO FAR. 

(This is an original Canada Moms Blog post. To continue reading, please click here.)

Daily Gratitudes

1. The way Jude's voice lights up with love and gentleness when I phone him at work. For years this is something I've looked forward to as the phone rang. The rare times he answers stressed out I know he must really be stressed out.
2. Curling up with Daisy and Lulu in my bed and reading.  
3. Listening to Daisy read an Arthur book and breeze past words like "communicating".   
4. Laughing over Daisy stumbling over the word "take". She can read "communicating" but not "take"? (No, she's not just memorizing-- I've never read her the book.) 
5. Jude has no court trials for two weeks.   

The Universe thinks I'm fabulous

(It pains me to even have to explain this but it pains me more to be misunderstood, so let it be known at the outset that this is a tongue-in-cheek post with just a touch of self-mockery.)

I have this sneaking suspicion that you don't listen to my sparkling, brilliant advice and act upon it enough.  My stunning essence flies over your head.  The light in my eyes goes unnoticed and everyday that you don't rise up to meet me in Terrific Land is a day you failed to heed my call. Today you're going to make it up to yourself.

If I sound a little full of myself it's only because I have a secret admirer who thinks I'm utterly perfect and it's really getting to my head. My flaws melt away into an understanding that there's always tomorrow and every year I am just a little bit more awesome and that's so "good enough" that it's perfect the way it is.

You know the Saturday Night Live skit from the 90's with Guy Smiley Stuart Smalley (lol)? He would look into a mirror, smile at his sweater-vested reflection and would affirm, 

I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and dog-gone-it... people like me.

Self-affirmations are legitimate tools recommended by psychologists.  They replace the negative self-talk in which we all engage.  Here's the problem:  The nature of a self-affirmation is to be something you don't believe yet but want to believe and because you don't believe in it, you don't let it dwell with you.  You fail to become onnnne with the affirmation. Plus, you feel foolish. 

I bring you the solution. Wait-- that needs a more booming voice:

I BRINNNG YOU THEEE SOLUUUUTIONNN.

Ahem.

Theee soluuuutionnn will help you think you are fabulous and admit it unapologetically. What do I mean by "admit it unapologetically"?  Well, you've probably read or heard this quote, often wrongly credited to someone other than the lovely Marianne Williamson, in A Return to Love:

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure... We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? ...Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you...  We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us... And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.

That's what I mean.

Everydayish, I get emails from The Universe telling me how incredible I am.  Sure, I know that it's an automated free newsletter-type thing into which I put my name and that the people who write these emails don't actually know me but over time I started to forget that and just think of the emails as coming from my mentor who truly understands me. I like to view the emails as reminders that God thinks of me pretty much the same way. Rarely have I received a message that was untrue or that conflicted with my spiritual beliefs and the psychic nature of the messages, often coming just when I need them, just when they're relevant, makes me grin and marvel.

I find it more effective to let The Universe do the affirmations for me. This is the type of stuff I get in my inbox:

You're freakin' me out, Natasha. I can't remember when you last looked so radiant. When your inner beauty shone so bright. When your step was so light and your smile so heavenly. And it's Monday! What's gotten into you?!

Does this have anything to do with recalling your divinity? Have you realized that time truly is on your side, and that more than enough of it remains for us to do your greatest work? Is it that you now see how much you already have, how many you've already helped, and how much you've already done?

Ahhhh! Your eyes just did that sparkly thing! Moonbeams just shot from your fingertips! The aroma, all around you, is like lavender! And your angels are locked wing to wing singing, "Weeeeeeeeee are the champions..."

...Okay, okay. So I'm pulling your leg a little bit. Truth be told, I can't remember when you didn't look like this.

All together now... 
The Universe

Isn't that sweet?! I love the part "Truth be told, I can't remember when you didn't look like this". I'm also rather fond of these emails:

No one ever regrets raising the bar, Natasha, ever, ever, ever.

Scare yourself, 
    The Universe

Should you ever hear your name being called, Natasha, only to spin around and see absolutely no one... it's most likely one of us, in the unseen, who misses you so much we've begun following you around, talking as if you can hear us, waving our arms around excitedly as we speak, and getting so carried away that we've ended up volunteering you for "Dancing with the Angels" by blurting your name out so loud, it broke the time-space barrier. Oh my!

"Natasha!!!!!!"
    The Universe

How will you answer those, Natasha, who will one day look at your utterly amazing life, complete with beauty, strength and cool friends, and say, "Yeah, but for you it was easy"?

Huh, huh, huh? 
    The Universe

Natasha, today, be the person of your dreams.

See life through HER eyes. 

Make decisions with HER mind. 

Let every thought, word, and action come from HER perspective, as if you had already arrived, and just watch how 2009 warps into the kind of year you talk and laugh about forever and ever and ever...

Peace, love, and green M&Ms - 
    The Universe

For those who don't yet understand themselves, Natasha, it's impossible that they might understand you.
Impossible.

I understand you,
    The Universe

(And this one came on a day when I felt very misunderstood. It was eerie.)

I love the following pieces of advice:

Anything you could ever hope that I might one day do for you, Natasha, is something you can begin doing for yourself today, making the whole thing happen about 7,000 times faster.

But that's just if you're in a hurry, 
    The Universe

When you begin to find love, Natasha, in people and places where you haven't found it before, it's always because you've grown.

You so rock, 
    The Universe

You, too, can star in your own Pantene commercial. (You know-- "Don't hate me because I'm beautiful"?) Just sign up for emails from The Universe from Tut (Totally Unique Thoughts).  No, I don't get paid to plug this. But I should. Because, of course, I deserve it like I deserve everything good in the world. ;-D

Be a touch of terrific whole lotta terrific,

     Natasha ♥

* * *

By the way, speaking of secret admirers, I wanted to say thank you to the unknown blog reader who purchased the You Are So Loved print from my Etsy Favourites list (shown on the right hand side of my blog) and sent it to me.  I was a kind of freaked out when the Etsy seller emailed me out-of-the-blue and asked for my address because she worded it in such a way that it sounded like she was giving it to the stranger who wanted to send me the item.  After I sent my paranoia to bed for the day, I gave my aunt Patty's address, just to be safe, and she re-sent the item to me.  I wanted to buy it for my family, particularly my son, to look at everyday. Now it has even more meaning.  And it came on a day when I was feeling terribly misunderstood and unloved. Thank you, Mystery Gifter. Something tells me that you are so loved, too;  you're probably just that kind of person.

Daily Gratitudes

1. Jude walking the dog at 6am everyday.
2. The internet.  
3. Blackberries instead of candy. 
4. Jude being at home yesterday at lunch time.  
5. My camera.  It's not amazing but it does a pretty good job.