Comtemplating thankfulness after Thanksgiving = Sending a Belated Birthday card (belatedly)

At the start of last week, I had an enormous amount of negative energy in my body. An enormous amount. I felt choked by it. I could've written several entries in which I ranted and bitched about all the crap that was clogging the pipes of my happiness, but I chose not to. I was practicing some some self-restraint in the spirit of Thanksgiving. I chose to focus on the positive and not let every little worry and frustration (and my growing contempt and disgust in the human race) overtake me. As I thought about it I realized the truth as it is, that I have an immense amount of things to be thankful for right now. God has blessed me more than I deserve to be blessed. I have a job I love (for the most part). I have many comforts and luxuries that others don't. I'm in love. I have great friends. I've had lots of good hair days lately. But, listing the things I'm thankful for would have been the MOST unoriginal thing I could have done. Seeing as Thanksgiving is over now, I could have just skipped this subject altogether, but I really did want to write about it. So...I'm gonna give it a shot.

Instead of thankfulness, I'm going to talk about forgiveness. Why forgiveness? Because I've reached the conclusion that thankfulness isn't possible without forgiveness. I'll do my best to explain...

I read this one day last week. "God is more interested in making us what we ought to be than in giving us what we want to have." I began to disect this the instant I read it. I thought about "wants" as they relate to thankfulness. Should we only be thankful when we recieve the things we want? Or should we be thankful for everything in our lives; the good stuff, the bad stuff, the stuff we hoped for, AND the stuff we never expected?

A friend of mine taught me a couple of years ago (during a very dark time)to be thankful PARTICULARLY for the bad stuff. I thought she was crazy at first. I immediately told her that there was no way I could thank God for the things that were making me miserable at the time. (There were a lot of them.) And, even if I offered thanks, I would be doing so insincerely...and God would know the difference, anyway. She insisted that I should do it; that I should repeatedly send up praise for every little thing that made me sad and angry and worrisome. Because I trusted my friend and because I was desperate to feel God at the time...I took her advice...and it took it fully. I audibly said "Thank You" to God probably 50-75 times a day. I said it after EVERY negative thought and every unpleasant spark of emotion. And I hated it.

Nothing changed at first, and the continuous task of expressing gratitude in my time of despair took a toll on my already fragile emotional state, and also on my patience. But, much to my surprise, it didn't take long to understand the advice she gave. Before long, I found that all the little ugly things didn't bother me so much...and I was soon able to focus more on the things that WEREN'T ugly. And then something else happened. I realized that I had been blaming myself for all the ugly things that I felt so burdened by. I had convinced myself that they were all, in one way or another, either directly or abstractly, the factor of my failure. But somewhere in my forced, concentrated thankfulness, I forgave myself. I wasn't even concious of it at the time...but it came to me in shallow waves of relief. As the miracle continued, I found myself more thankful...for life and for breath and for love and for opportunity...than I ever had been before. And my focus shifted to the beautiful and away from the ugly.

Since then, I've thought a lot about forgiveness, and I've learned how to forgive not only myself, but others. I know we think that all of us already know how to forgive, but it's an ability that we aren't born with. It's completely unnatural. It's a hard thing to learn; such a painful process...like riding a bike without training wheels. I had bruised legs...and a bruised ego...for months. The more I've forgiven...and the BIGGER I've forgiven...the more thankful I've become. This is partly the power of positive thinking, but mostly it's power that allows beauty to come into my life. I forgive...I let go...and great things follow. I don't even have to look for them. It's as if greatness automatically fills the space that my unforgiveness was once occupying...just like a commonplace act of nature.

If forgiveness can work such miracles in my tiny little life, then what other powers does it possess?

I just read a book called "Left to Tell". It was written by a woman who survived the Rwandan Holocaust by hiding in a bathroom for 3 months. Her entire family, with the exception of one brother, was brutally murdered during the genocide. She tells of the horrible things that happened in Africa during that time. Things that no human being should ever have to witness and endure. But what she talks about more is how she learned to forgive the people that put an entire country through Hell. She even forgave the individuals that slaughtered those she loved most. She instead chose to be thankful for survival and for her faith. This woman has gone on to achieve amazing things, and has spread messages of hope and healing to millions of people around the world. She would never have accomplished anything without forgiveness.

I think of Elie Weisel, one of the best known survivors of the Holocaust during World War II. He has spent years talking about forgiveness. I cry every time I hear him speak and every time I read his works. I cry not only at the emotion I hear in his voice and for the memories he wakes up to every day of his life, but for the way he has embraced life since that horrible time. He has credited much of his success to the power of forgiveness...and he,too, has changed many lives with his wisdom.

I could name dozens of other examples of extreme forgiveness, and all of them would tell a different story of lives changed. I believe that every single one of them would mention thankfulness as a key factor...a prominent outcome.

Being thankful really does transform us. It pushes us towards success, inner peace, and healthy relationships. It gives us hope and acceptance. When you think about it, it enables us to be "what we ought to be" (referring to the afore mentioned quote), doesn't it? Aren't those characteristics things that we "ought" to display? Wouldn't most people WANT those things?

We can look at all of this mathematically. Please keep in mind I have NEVER been good at math.

Pain + Thankfulness = Forgiveness
Forgiveness X more Thankfulness = Great things/things we WANT

So, if God really does care more about making us better people more than he cares about giving us our desires, he's actually killing two birds with one stone. Or something like that.

It's interesting to me that this picture is posted on a Mullet Enthusiast Website because, really, the mullet is the last thing I notice.

I'll take the Botox, the Brow Lift, and a side of Vaginal Reconstruction

There’s a new fad in the medical world, folks. Hymenoplasty. It’s actually been around for some time (although it’s news to me), but the popularity of the procedure is growing with fervor. Broken hymen, ladies? Well, here’s a new one for ya!

Apparently, women are taking advantage of this technology to attain a second chance at “virginity”. I put VIRGINITY in quotes because equating the concept of sexual purity with whether or not you happen to have an intact hymen is asinine. What a joke. If you’re TRULY concerned about your sexual purity, then surely you would understand that a little piece of skin really has nothing to do with it at all. I experience so many simultaneous emotions when considering all the ramifications of this subject…I don’t even know where to begin in expressing them.

This article (http://www.post-gazette.com/pg/05349/622923.stm) is almost a year old, but it covers a variety of different views on this matter. The quote…"It's the ultimate gift for the man who has everything," makes me want to vomit. And if you don’t understand all the reasons WHY it makes me want to vomit, then my explaining it to you would make no difference at all; you will never get it.

Spicing up a marriage? Wear some nasty lingerie. Experiment. Role play. Lose the baby weight and get more exercise. See a sex therapist. But please don’t resort to having your vagina surgically altered just so that it feels good for your husband….just ONE more time. If this is what he needs, then your problems are much bigger than you realize.

The 4 years I spent in college was SO worth it.

The following are just a few examples of not-so-smart things I’ve done/said lately.

I mailed off a 2-week-belated birthday gift to my friend in New York. (A Rachael Ray cookbook.) I selected a super cute card that went PERFECTLY with the book, but apparently forgot to include it in the package. AND…I didn’t even put my name on the outside of the package. So, she didn’t even know who the gift was from; it was just a book in an envelope. Happy Birthday from the laziest friend you’ve ever had! (I still haven’t found the card and have no idea what I did with it, BTW.)

After showering, I decided that my itchy dry skin needed a thirst quenching application of lotion. I pulled out a bottle from my very disorganized lotion drawer, and squeezed a hearty amount into my hand. As I proceeded to cover my arms, stomach, and shoulders, I noticed that my skin wasn’t absorbing the lotion well. Why? Because it was shower gel, that’s why. I had to get BACK into the shower to rinse off, and was late for work at the end of it all.

While with David, I noticed some cool apartments that I wanted him to see. Tapping him with my bony finger as he drove, I said, “Hey, Building! Look at that baby!” Needless to say, he did not see the said apartments.

I went into the grocery store for Draino and toilet paper…only. I left the store with ice cream, aluminum foil, tampons, and a can of baked beans…only.

(Another shower story…) I stepped in fire ants. Unfortunate. Painful. Fully dressed, I jumped into the bathtub to rinse off the excruciating fire ant venom. Of course, I didn’t know that the shower nozzle was still on and when I turned the cold water on, I was drenched. My feet hurt so badly that I couldn’t even concentrate enough to turn the water off or to step out of the tub. No outfit makes you feel sexier than a pair of wet jeans and a wet hoodie.

I popped some brownies into the oven and went about my business doing very important things. 30 minutes later, it occurred to me that my apartment was NOT filled with the heavenly aroma of baking chocolate. Going to investigate, I realized that I had never even turned the oven on.

My supervisor put a report in my box that listed a few tasks that I was working on for a particular client. In hindsight, I can say that it was CLEARLY a report that needed to be signed and handed back to him, although at the time, I didn’t get that. I read it and acknowledged in my head that I had, in fact, completed all listed tasks. Good! I then crumbled it into a ball and threw it away. More than a week later, my supervisor asked whatever happened to that report he gave me about such-and-such. Oh. “Yeah. Um, I’m gonna need another copy of that.”

I made some temporary “friends” during a 7-hour-long airline fiasco that revolved around cancelled and delayed flights. Towards the end of our adventure together, one of them mentioned the name of the company they both worked for. “Company A”. I perked up a bit…and quickly shared that my boyfriend works for “Company B”. They both looked at me, then looked at each other, then looked back at me as if to say “…AND…???” I went on to excitedly explain that “B” is closely related to “A”. That, in fact, “A” is really the parent company of “B”.

They looked confused and proceeded to ask me questions about this mysterious “Company B”. They had never heard of it. Feeling the need to defend myself and my boyfriend’s company, I shared with them all the knowledge I had about “Company B”. And…let me tell you what a BigGirl I felt like as I went on and on about what the company specializes in. My new friends finally decided that I seemed to know what I was talking about, but I knew they were still suspicious because they had no knowledge of this “Company B”. Someone graciously changed the subject, and I didn’t give another thought to the conversation.

I finally reached my destination…late and frazzled…and was dragging my butt through the airport when I saw a sign for my boyfriend’s company. It said “Company C” in big, bold letters. Aww. That’s nice. It took me about 3 seconds to realize, with humiliation, that I had wrongly referred to “C” as “B”, and no wonder my airport friends thought I was a moron. As my mind continued to right itself, I came to another embarrassing conclusion. “Company B” was not the name of an existing company at all, but the name of a prescription drug used to treat schizophrenia and other mental illnesses, of all things. (The name of the drug and of the company are similar....)

I know what you’re wondering, and NO, I don’t take any such medication.

I need to be cooler, and it's all up to YOU.

Okay. I need help.
I'm not COMPLETELY computer illiterate, but I do struggle from time to time with the technical stuff. I am somewhat able to manage my site template to make minor changes, but the big stuff leaves me confused.

So, what I want to do is create some type of cool "masthead". (...across the top of my page...I've been told this is what it's called.) Either that, or insert some large(r) graphics on my sidebar. I've been reading up and tinkling with my template from time to time, but I've obviously not had much luck. I know some of you MUST know how to do this because your own sites look spiffy and fancy.

Please share your knowledge with me, even if it's only out of pity!!!

And don't you just love it when their little bloated bellies are covered in flies? It's to die for!

I frequently wear a white rubber braclet on my left wrist. You know the kind...it's the trendy thing to do now. (Not that I'm all that trendy, honestly.) Lots of people wear rubber braclets that serve as statement for or against a variety of things. (i.e. FOR Lent, FOR Abstinence, FOR macaroni and cheese, AGAINST regular noodles sans cheese.) My braclet is worn in support of ONE . ONE is a quickly-growing campaign to end worldwide poverty. (as stated on their website...ONE believes that allocating an additional ONE percent of the U.S. budget toward providing basic needs like health, education, clean water and food would transform the futures and hopes of an entire generation in the world's poorest countries. ONE also calls for debt cancellation, trade reform and anti–corruption measures in a comprehensive package to help Africa and the poorest nations beat AIDS and extreme poverty.)

I joined the campaign a while back, as did some of my coworkers. I sign online petitions from time to time that are presented to governing bodies. I keep up with what's going on around the world in efforts to reduce debt in third world countries. And the best part? I occassionally get emails from people like Will Smith and Matt Damon filling me in on ONE news. This, of course, makes me feel delightfully special despite the fact that these emails are sent to every ONE member and are probably not written nor even read by the people whose names are attached to them. (But, I like to picture Matt Damon, on his couch with his laptop, sitting indian-style in his sweatsuit and socks, typing away a personal message to lil'ol me.)

I was wearing said rubber braclet one day recently when I girl I know started eyeing it.

"So, what's the braclet for?" She touched it; rotated it around my wrist. "ONE. What's that?"

I eagerly explained to her the mission of ONE and that I wear it to remind myself of the condition of the world and that I should do something...ANYTHING...on a daily basis to contribute to the needs of others.

"Oh!" She exclaimed. "That's SO cute!"

I stared at her blankly for a moment before I spoke. I'm sure I rolled my eyes. I may have even drolled a little bit through my gaping mouth. "Cute? Worldwide poverty is CUTE? Billions of people don't have food to eat. Millions of children in Africa are orphaned and homeless. Dozens of people die every single minute in impoverished countries due to AIDS, a lack of nourishment, lack of shelter, and poor healthcare. Yeah, that's cute. It's toddler-with-teddy-bear, kitten-tangled-in-yarn, Susie's Zoo-on-a-onesie cute. It's f-ing adorable, really."

I wonder how she herself didn't choke on the dusty dry sarcasm in my voice. Who knew that a symptom of ignorance is a super-saturated throat?


ONEbyONE

I'll never look at Tenacious "D" the same way again

This morning...around 4:45 am, I woke up from one of the most terrifying nightmares I’ve ever had. It was gruesome, bloody, and life-changingly disturbing. It was so horrible, in fact, that I had to turn on all the lights, the t.v. in the living room, and the radio in my bedroom just for the sake of distraction. I sat up in bed and prayed for a solid hour before I finally fell back asleep. (I’ll spare you the details of the dream. I’ll even spare you the concept. I did share them with my coworker this morning, however, and he was more than eager to interpret the meaning for me. His insights actually gave me a great deal of clarity, and I’m sure I’ll be obsessing over what he said for the next week or so.)

Anyway…as awful as the nightmare was, it ended in a rather amusing way. It was me and Jesus…dancing the waltz. That I was dancing with Jesus wasn’t the funny part. It was quite beautiful, really, considering what had happened previously in the dream. No, the funny part was that “the role” of Jesus was played by Jack Black. Jack Black…looking up at me with those beady eyes and that goofy little crooked grin of his….reciting scripture and assuring me that it was all going to be okay. Surprisingly, I found tremendous comfort in this.

Again, I’m reminded that God REALLY does have a sense of humor. I love that about God.

The horse is dead. Really...he's a goner. You can put the bat down now.

I love my coworkers (all 9 of them). We're like family. We care about each other. Support each other. Make each other laugh. And, just like family, we often argue and pick on each other like adolescent brothers and sisters.

One of the ways in which we as a group remind me of a family is the way we NEVER let things lie. Like my own family, for example: every one of my family members thinks it's uproariously funny to mention "The Allison Hug" at every family gathering. "The Allison Hug" refers to the alleged way I used to hug them. It was a limp hugging style...bodies not touching...mostly involving hands gently patting on the upper back. What can I say? It was during my middle school years...when I didn't like to be touched. I'm a loveable, enthusiastic hugger NOW, and that's all that should matter. Or, how about the way my mother refers to milk as "golly-ga" or "gulp" when my brothers are around just because that's how they pronounced it 30 years ago or so. It's really not that cute any more. I guess all families do this, right? Please tell me that all families do this!! If I can't believe that, then I'll be pushed a little closer towards insanity.

So, had I fully realized way back in June what the familial nature of our staff is/would be, I may have avoided setting myself up the way I did. After I had been working here for a few weeks, we had a day-long staff retreat at a local plantation home/conference center. At that point, I hadn't yet revealed myself as the smart-ass that I am. I usually try to reveal that in small doses so to not scare people off, you know? I let it out in small tufts...like air slowly escaping a balloon.

We had a full day planned; every mintue already occupied on the schedule. An "expert" speaker had been recruited. Games would be played. Planning would take place in grand form. Good food would be eaten...constantly...all day long. Everyone was milling around when I arrived...drinking coffee and casually chatting. Renee, my boss, was standing by a table alone, organizing her papers. I walked over to her to say good morning. Placing my hand on her shoulder, I spoke in a very serious voice.

"Renee, I have something kinda special planned. I've been practicing an interpretive dance that illustrates the importance of teamwork. I have music with it and everything. When do you think we might have time today for me to perform this?" Still serious. No smile on my face. I don't have a clue why I say these types of things to people. I never plan it. It just happens. I think my sense of humor has me wired like someone suffering fromTourette's Syndrome.

She was obviously shocked. The look on her face showed that she was locked in an emotion somewhere between confusion and panic. I could tell that part of her wanted to laugh, but the professional side of her told her that she COULD'NT laugh; not to my face, anyway. Her eyes darted around searching for somewhere nearby that had overheard because she knew immediately that, later on, she would want someone to laugh WITH.

"Oh! Okay. Well..." All she could get out were one-word sentences. She was searching her brain for an answer, but one failed to come to her. Feeling guilty for her struggle, I admitted that I was only joking. She was so relieved that her eyes literally welled up with tears as she laughed. It was just "the funniest thing" she had ever heard. She HAD to run and tell the others what I had said. And right then and there, I was named "the funny one".

Don't get me wrong. I don't mind being "the funny one". It's better than being "the smelly one" or "the one that lingers too closely" or "the one that picks her nose when she thinks nobody is watching". But my coworkers have used the dance incident to get a chuckle about 375 times since then. Any time we have a meeting or a special event coming up, it's inevitable that someone will suggest that Allison "prepare a dance" for the occassion.

Renee has even spread rumors of my liturgical dancing skills to our board members and volunteers. She usually does this in front of me...and she'll nudge me and say "Tell 'em, Allison! Tell 'em the story. You guys are gonna love this!" This always leaves me in an awkward position to explain that it was all just a silly, spontaneous joke. For some reason, this seems to confuse non-staff members. Most of them half-giggle politely, pretending to get the humor in the whole thing. But I know that under the surface they think I'm an idiot.

Or, then again, maybe I'll just stick to kitty cats and goldfish.

It never ceases to amaze me how many parents there are in the world that really have no business at all being such. It’s truly alarming. Disturbing. We’ve all suffered the wrath of poorly disciplined children in restaurants and grocery stores and shot judging glares in the direction of their complacent mothers and fathers. It seems that lately I’ve been inclined to shoot a horrific number of these glares.

An example: A few weeks ago I was at a Chinese restaurant with a friend of mine when I witnessed a disturbing sight. A group of 6 or 7 small children was roaming the place under no supervision whatsoever. Their parents (several sets of them) were dumpy looking fat-asses, apparently too absorbed in their own gorging to pay attention to their spawn. Instead of accompanying the kids to the buffet or, better yet, choosing their food for them, they were left to wander the bar area as freely as they chose…picking shrimp up one at a time and popping them into their mouths…poking their fingers in the orange chicken…and making things float in the sweet and sour soup. (I know….another buffet story. I told you have an issue with these.)

The sight that angered and concerned me most was the 2 year old that visited our table more than a few times…usually to hand me a piece of eggroll or a fortune cookie message she’d happened upon. Not only did the parents of these brats not CARE what was going on; they couldn’t even SEE them because they were seated in another room entirely. I could’ve taken off with that baby and nobody would have ever known. (In fact, I tried to. But she smelled like pooh so I took her out of my purse and sent her on her way.) Every time I attempted to look in their direction to stare at them judgingly, they were lost in open-mouth-full-of-half-chewed-crap conversation. I ended up complaining to the cashier that I was appalled they let children tear through their restaurant with no supervision. He was completely confused as to why I would be annoyed by such a situation and had nothing of satisfaction to say back to me.

And then, on the other hand, there are parents who pay quite a bit of “attention” to their children; but the outcome is equally as alarming to me. My office is located immediately next door to an elementary school. Being in a poor urban neighborhood, most of the children that go to this school live close by in the community, and a good many of them walk to and from the school every day unaccompanied by an adult.

There’s one mother that picks a large group of children up every afternoon when the bell rings. She’s a monster of a woman; large, loud, and scantily clad. On a daily basis we hear her walking in front of our building, screaming obscenities at the tykes around her. She calls them a variety of vulgar names and often makes physical threats. Sometimes, when those two methods don’t get their attention, she’ll take off her shoes and throw them directly at the back of one of their heads or grab them by the bicep and shake them violently. I’ve heard some of my coworkers let out a chuckle at the sight of this and say “Well, at least she’s walking home with them. Most parents don’t even do that.” I can see the logic in such a comment, but it’s really just sad to me that our society is so quick to negotiate on standards of appropriate parenting.

I know I’m not a parent yet and some would say that I, therefore, have no right to judge the parenting styles of others. But it just seems like common sense to note how many people SUCK at being mothers and fathers. I don’t understand why we can’t do more about this problem. You have to pass a test to drive a car or to work in a fast food restaurant. You have to fill out a stack of forms and sign waivers to get a hunting license. Foster and adoptive parents are required to go through weeks, months, or even years of interviews and supervision in order to be “given” a child. So why is it that any idiot or sack-of-trash can pop out as many kids as they want to without any outside force determining whether or not they’re capable of such a responsibility? The older I get, the more intolerant I become of insufficient parents. Maybe it’s my maternal instincts starting to bloom. (Which I guess should be reassuring because I always wondered if they would ever bloom at all.)

Of all the potentially-future events and/or situations I occasionally and/or frequently feel unnecessary anxiety over, motherhood isn’t one of them. (Pregnancy is another story completely, however. We’ll discuss that at another time.) I’m mostly confidant that I will be a good mother, if I’m blessed with the opportunity one day. Yes, I’ll probably be overprotective. Being a “mother” to Bridget has already shown me that. Yes, I'll be strict in the areas of housekeeping and personal hygiene. And yes, I’ll threaten to sell my kids to gypsies when they piss me off. I may even seriously contemplate doing so. But other than that, I think I’ll be alright.

I’ll be one of those “cool moms”. You know the kind. Not the “cool kind” that gives the neighborhood kids sex advice. Not the “cool kind” that barges into the classroom, hair in a scrunchee, unlit cigarette in hand, to cuss out the teacher when he/she complains about her child’s poor behavior. I’ll be the kind that makes homemade chocolate chip pancakes for dinner on a Tuesday. The kind that makes them laugh so hard, milk squirts out of their noses. The kind that will dance in the rain in her socks and pajamas. The kind that doesn’t stifle creativity. The kind that establishes it’s OKAY to make mistakes; in fact, it’s propitious. The kind that puts plastic fruit in their lunchboxes on April Fool’s day (I stole that one from my aunt.). The kind that listens to great music…even when she’s over 40. The kind that doesn’t wear elastic-waist pants or “mom jeans”. The kind that really loves their father…and isn’t afraid to show it. The kind that loves her kids so much that they have no choice but to go out into the world spreading the superfluous love to others.

And God forbid that I’ll EVER be one of those mothers that people shake their heads at in public as they mumble to their friends what a joke I am; that my children are hellions that need a good spanking. I shouldn’t even publish this because I’m sure that, one day, far in the future, my kids will find this and present it to me as some type of bribe. They’ll use it as proof that I vowed to be “cool”. The only comeback I’ll have is a weak, non-original one like “Because…I told you so! Yeah, that’s it! Because my rule is law!” And then I’ll have to send them to bed without their dinner just to reinforce my authority.