100 Things About Me (Version 4.0)

Every now and then I update my "about me" page. As an ever-evolving person (always reforming! *Calvinist joke*) the 100 Things About Me inevitably become obsolete after a period of time.

So. If you want to know way too much about me, pour yourself some coffee, get comfortable and meet Lori Arnold, 2020 version.

Hint: If you want to REALLY get to know me, you can read the past 300 things about me listed in the "about me" page. 

*BONUS! You get to choose how to digest this highly important information: watch the video, or read below.



100 Things About Me - 2020 Version from superlori on Vimeo.



100 Things About Me - 4.0

1. As I've stated before, I was born and raised in Arkansas. That has not changed.

2. It has also not changed that I went to college at the University of Arkansas at Fayetteville and majored in English with an emphasis in Creative Writing.

3. Okay, several things haven't changed, but they will soon. After graduating the U of A, I married a Scotsman named Scott and moved to Scotland, where I lived for the next 9 years of my life.

4. After, you know, several years, I ended up with three children, who shall be referred to here as Fifi, Lolly and Jaguar/Cub. (He didn't like being called Jaguar, so a couple of years ago I acquiesced to his wishes and changed him to Cub.)

5. I have had a lot of pets, mostly cats, which is weird because I kind of hate cats AND I'm allergic to cats. But I have a soft spot for kittens, and that's how they get you.

6. Besides the many cats, I've also had pet rabbits, dogs, and a long succession of fish who refuse to stay alive. I've also had plants that I got attached to only to watch them die as well. Oh and in high school, I had a pet rat.   

7. Right now I'm totally fantasizing about a pet bird. I know this is a bad idea, especially because of said cats, but wouldn't a birdie be cute??

8. Wouldn't a puppy be cute too??

9. Okay, so maybe I just like naming pets. In order, my pets have been named: Squirt, Remedios the Beauty and Clementine, Kate and Wills, Dora and Boots, Chewbacca and Zelda, Gracie, Kitty Whiskers (to present), Sassy, Isobel, Pumpkin Spice, Butterbeer, Panda (to present), the OneRedCrossBetta, Sushi, Betta O'Rourke, and Cookie (to present).

10. Enough about pets. I also like cake. No, I take that back. I LOVE cake.

11. Yeah, so back to the timeline. I moved back to Arkansas in 2013 with Scott and our three kids.

12. Scott and I split up a few years later though. But we remain good friends and great co-parents.

13. Then I met Neil and a few years later, we married. So now I'm married to Neil. 

14. Since he has four daughters, I now have seven children I call mine. Seven children and three cats.

15. I still live in Arkansas, but Neil lives in Mississippi. So that's an interesting dynamic. 

16. Neil and I are both writers. He writes for a blog called Godless in Dixie. I *ahem* used to write for a blog called *this one* and I've also written a book called The Last Petal Falling.

17. A cursory glance at either and you will correctly surmise we both used to be Christians and we are not anymore.

18. Just to rip off the rest of the band-aid all at once, I'm a humanist who believes in Black Lives Matter, LGBTQ equality, feminism, a woman's right to choose, humanitarianism, impartiality, and that free or affordable healthcare is a right, immigrants and asylum seekers are people who deserve to be treated with humanity and dignity, and the earth is round. Oh, and COVID-19 is real. #virtuesignaling

19. Social Justice Warrior™ points aside, I also believe in open and compassionate conversations with a wide range of people and view points, keeping an open mind, being willing to accept when I am wrong, confronting my unconscious bias, and not jumping to conclusions about people based on preconceived notions. I am against cancel culture, which I do not think is helpful for encouraging anyone's individual growth or consensus. 

20. I may be an atheist, but I support the rights and beliefs of people of all religions, and as long as one's religious practices don't hurt or harm others, I take no issues with people practicing and standing by their faith.

21. I love chocolate.

22. I also love cheese.

23. I'm a shopaholic. 

24. I love hiking, camping, and backpacking. 

25. I am a pluviophile. 

26. I hate sports, except soccer (to watch) and tennis (to play).

27. My favorite cuisines are Thai food, Mexican food and pizza.

28. I love to sleep.

29. I enjoy reading, though with my busy schedule, I tend to do more audiobooks than paperbacks these days. 

30. I have a slough of hobbies that I go in and out of, depending on the seasons of my life, like sewing, painting, writing, crafting, and baking. (But not cooking. I hate cooking.)

31. I am an ENFJ, an Orange/Blue, a Three/Eight and an Expressor/Controller. (Any other personality tests out there I'm missing?)

32. I don't believe in horoscopes, but I'm an Aries.

33. My main love languages are words of affirmation and gifts.

34. I donate blood every 56 days (or so).

35. I work for the American Red Cross (and so as a disclaimer: all my opinions are completely my own and do not always necessarily reflect the opinions of my employer). I love the mission, values and fundamental principles of the Red Cross. <-- That link is worth following!

36. I'm afraid of spiders, heights, enclosed spaces, and failure.

37. I love bright colors. The colors that I'm most attracted to are bold and bright like red, yellow or turquoise.

38. I hate my feet.

39. I like my hair. 

40. My hair has been a variety of colors and shades, lengths and styles. Some of these were good choices, others were not. Currently my hair is dark brown and long, though I'm slowly going redder with every root touch-up.

41. As cliche as it sounds, I like a wide variety of music, but I get the most out of indie music. I get the least out of country. 

42. I like indie movies too, especially ones that make me cry. 

43. I'm an empath. 

44. I like for people to like me, and I put too much stock into what other people think of me.

45. I'm a perfectionist, an overachiever, and an overthinker.

46. I live too much in the future. Neil is more of an in-the-moment guy, which makes us a good match for each other. He is teaching me to enjoy the present.

47. I keep a gratitude journal. *Almost* every day, I write three things I'm grateful for and one thing I'm looking forward to for tomorrow. I've just added a third category too - something I like about myself. I call that my "worthiness" column, because it occurred to me the other day that I don't often believe I'm all that worthy of anything special. 

48. I love to travel. My job keeps me on the road a lot (at least when we're not in a pandemic). I've traveled all over the world, mostly on mission trips when I was a young person. I've been to Canada, Mexico, Venezuela, England, Scotland, Wales, France, Israel, Jordan, and Pakistan. I've visited 19 states (not counting states I've merely driven through) and Washington D.C. I want to travel more. Visiting every continent is on my bucket list; I still have Africa, Australia and Antarctica to go.

49. Riding in a hot air balloon is another item on my bucket list. I'm afraid of heights though. (See #36)

50. I'm a neat freak. I hate disorder.

51. I pride myself on my ability to perfectly fold a fitted sheet. 

52. I have ADHD, and I deal with anxiety and depression.

53. I'm kind of a hippie, crunchy mom who practiced co-sleeping, extended breastfeeding, baby-led weaning, baby-wearing, baby signing, gentle parenting and cloth diapering. My kids are older now, and I have yet to determine how my kids will turn out.

54. I have awesome kids though. Just for the record. 

55. I love Bernie Sanders. 

56. I am in support of an independent Scotland.

57. I met my new husband on the internet (sort of - via his blog). My previous husband actually introduced me to his website years ago when I was first deconverting. (But there was zero funny business or even contact with him until well AFTER we split up, just in case your mind went there.)  We have, shall we say, a very "non-traditional" marriage. And it's the happiest I've ever been. *Insert heart emoji.

58. I used to write poetry. I will eventually get my poems into a book so I can say I've published TWO books and be an even more authentic author.

59. I like alliteration. Technically, actually, it is consonance that I like more.

60. I like to start projects with alliterative or consonant titles. I'm more likely to stick with something if it has a catchy project name. 

61. I'm a bit of a diva, and I love singing on stage, acting on stage, and public speaking. Pass me a mic, I'll find something to do with it. 

62. I wish I were funny enough to write like David Sedaris. 

63. I love thunderstorms - just not the damage they can cause. 

64. I'm both an adrenaline junkie and risk adverse. Figure that one out.

65. My current favorite TV show is The Good Place on Netflix. My all time favorite TV shows are Gilmore Girls and Scrubs.

66. I am always starting and failing diets.

67. I am always starting and failing exercise plans.

68. I love real mail. I enjoy writing letters and sending cards. I love receiving real mail too, so ... hint hint.

69. I don't enjoy conflict or fighting, but I appreciate and value direct communication, even if it's uncomfortable. I just don't like when people get defensive or reactionary about it. I will always point out the elephant in the room, because I can't stand awkwardness or inauthenticity. 

70. I also can't stand passive aggressiveness. I don't like aggressive aggressiveness either though. Just be an adult about it! (Unless you're a kid. But even then, be an adult about it!)

71. I often talk to my kids like they are my co-workers. I can't understand why they can't just be collaborative and work together more?

72. I enjoy event planning. When I was a stay-at-home-mom, this was expressed in throwing killer birthday parties. As a professional, this looks like organizing creative fundraisers and special events. If I can include a theme too? Oh man. 

73. I'm a Rotarian.

74. I serve on the board of the Arkansas State Independent Living Council as the board secretary.

75. I love to deploy to disasters with the Red Cross. Being on the ground during a large scale disaster response and physically touching the mission is what keeps me going when the day-to-day going gets tough.

76. I value honesty and compassion above pretty much all other values in life. 

77. I prefer everything to be clear and unambiguous. When ambiguity is inevitable, I do not like it. That makes 2020 a really tough year for me.

78. I have ten tattoos and ten piercings. I think it's ten for both... I haven't counted in a while.

79. I have an affinity for cute shoes.

80. I live by my day planner. Not my digital Outlook calendar - my 18-month spiral-bound paper planner. 

81. I use color-coded erasable pens in my day planner, and I reward myself for accomplishments with stickers.

82. My birthday is April Fools Day.

83.  I know it's cheesy, but I love Valentine's Day. It's kind of my favorite. I love all holidays really though. Any reason to celebrate and I'm on it. Shall we plan a themed party? I'll hit up Party City.

84. I have Imposter Syndrome. 

85. I'm a bit of a hypochondriac.

86. My favorite dessert (besides cake) is homemade banana pudding. I make it from scratch using my great-grandmother's recipe. I want some now. 

87. I also love pies. All pies. All Pies Matter.

88. I was briefly in a fake band in college called Heart Union. We didn't actually play instruments or perform gigs, but we sold merch.

89. I was briefly in a real band in college called Sharkie. I was briefly in a band in high school too called Oswald's Pool. 

90. I was a DJ on our college radio station, KXUA 88.3.

91. I like all of my dishes to match and put away in a very specific layout. However, I like all of my coffee mugs to be mismatched and different, so no one gets their cups mixed up. 

92. My clothes are arranged by color in my closet. (Consonance!)

93. I make my bed *almost* every day when I get up. 

94. I listen to NPR.

95. I don't believe in ghosts, but I kind of do.

96. I don't care how old I am, I love stuffed animals.

97. I like to problem solve.

98. I take my tea with milk, no sugar.

99. I love musicals. 

100. I love lists.

Dear Wayback Machine

Dear Wayback Machine:

Thank you for helping me unearth some of the most cringe-worthy pieces of writing I've ever committed to paper and for capturing my barely passable web and graphic design skills and for reminding me once again just how unbearably pretentious and annoying I was in college.

It all started with Geocities...

Unfortunately, there isn't much archived from that page. Pity too. I had tabs called "art", "poetry" and "jesus". Although actually the Jesus link still works, and so does "quotes". And how about that awesome copyright?

geocities.com/dj_xia - about me page

Then I entered the world of domain names and Dreamweaver and voila. Superlori.com was born.

superlori.com

Then I got married and two websites (well a website and a Xanga) became one.  Meet the original scottandlori.co.uk.  This might be the most cringy thing I've ever seen. Complete with a "Books to Burn" list in the sidebar. Puuuuke.

scottandlori.co.uk - 2005

The site progressed, as websites do...

scottandlori.co.uk - 2006

These were the days of interactive images. (Go ahead, scroll over.)

scottandlori.co.uk - 2007

And everything was in web frames.

Finally I got tired of designing my own sites with Dreamweaver and resorted to using Blogger's own templates. Which I still use today because I finally realized I'm really not a web designer.

scottandlori.co.uk - July 2011

And to bring it all full circle, we finally managed to catch scottandlori.com after vying for it for years. The previous owners released it, and we snatched it up. We became a dot com.

scottandlori.com

Through these sites I found not just bad web design and embarrassing blog posts. I also found some essays I'd written in college. I'd like to share them with you, but I don't have it in me to be that self-deprecating.  My essay on the Jonathan Edwards' sermon "Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God" for instance made me want to punch a baby penguin. My "creative non-fiction" piece about childhood imagination made me gag and roll my eyes and cry a little for what a terrible writer I was.  But I will give you this - the least cringe-worthy piece of them all - my creative response to John Donne's poem "The Flea".

Thank you, Wayback Machine. No really, I can't thank you enough. I now marvel at the fact I had any friends at all.  Ta.

Lori Arnold

WLIT

April 26,2001

The Flea's Response: A Letter To the Editor

Dear Editor:

My name is William J. Bennet, more infamously known as just "the flea". I am writing on behalf of a highly offensive poem published by Mr. John Donne. I am an upright citizen, who believes in morality and decency; this man has carelessly involved me in all sorts of indecorous deeds. I would like to state that I would never engage myself in the fornication or seduction of which he has accused me. In this letter, I would like to publicly state that I had nothing to do with the conspiracies of this man to entangle his mistress into the act of pre-marital lovemaking, and to correct any and all fallacies presented in his poem, "The Flea."

First, I would like to comment on his insulting remark regarding my size. He states "How little that which thou deny'st me is". Excuse me for having self-confidence, but I believe that, despite my size, I have worth. However, for the sake of argument, let us agree that I am quite small. Mr. Donne would like to imply that the act of fornication bears no more importance than a flea. This is simply not true; sex is created for marriage, and in my opinion, to take it out of that strict limitation is a far bigger ordeal on the Scale of Importance than what he perceives a flea to be.

Now I will admit that, yes, I did indeed bite both of them. However, Mr. Donne blew that mild and God-created instinct out of proportion. I bite because I am a flea; I bite because I am hungry. This is my humble rank in the food chain. I do not grumble over my existence; nay, I eat for survival and expect others to do the same. He is correct in saying that this is neither "a sin, nor shame, nor loss of maidenhead." Yet, he then goes on to accuse me of enjoying the blood in a sexual manner. I, in no way, had the foul intentions of creating a "marriage bed", when in my stomach their "two bloods mingled be." I am a flea. Yes, I enjoyed my meal, but the implications made were simply horrifying. Mr. Donne goes even further to say that what I have done was so crass that it was more than what his mistress would do with him. These accusations are so humiliating that I am red-faced just addressing them.

Mr. Donne seems to have the idea that three lives now exist within me. Before I go on, allow me to point out the ludicrousness of this point. If he would like to believe that now they are "more than married" because his blood was mingled with hers, then he must also believe that he is "more than married" to the ten other people who I had bitten within that same period of time. But to remain on topic, Mr. Donne tries to convince this chaste woman that in me lays their only "marriage temple," of which I have already stated was purely coincidental. I would like to say that no "temple" has been crafted inside me that would compromise anyone's morality, as would be the case in this particular circumstance. I shall never approve of pre-marital intercourse, and therefore would never help others to facilitate it.

I must commend this woman for staying true to the morals instilled in her by the church and her parents. Mr. Donne seems to ridicule her for it, and perhaps even shame her, comparing the provision of her parents to a prison of darkness. I can even forgive her for her murderous intentions, for at least they were sincere. Mr. Donne shows no sincerity when he beckons her to resist. His only argument was that if she killed me, she would not only be committing one crime, but three: two murders, and a suicide. He reasons that he and she live in me, and I adamantly refute that. I am outraged by the despicable and cunning techniques he uses in his attempt to convince her to participate in his debauchery. He has turned her own convictions against her, causing confusion over which deeds are ethically better or worse. If this were not wicked enough, he involves me, an innocent passer-by, in his vile machinations!

I must now clear up yet another misrepresentation. His lady did not kill me. On the contrary, I promptly left the scene after biting the couple. I had a stomachache and needed a respite. Hours later, I was informed that a dear companion of mine, Donald McNeil, was mistaken for me and "purpled thy nail" of Mr. Donne's mistress. Truly it was the "blood of innocence." I weep now, remembering my friend and how his life could have been spared had not Mr. Donne brought us into his extended metaphor, his conceit. My pain increased when I read his careless remark about the situation. The only thought on this man's mind was sex. He had asked her before to spare my life, even though for selfish gain, but that was put-on. I realized he did not care whether I lived or died when, instead of rebuking his mistress, he uses the opportunity to make another point for his defense. He has the audacity to tell her that by murdering the flea she mistook for me no harm was done, similar to the harmlessness that would ensue after an unbridled sexual experience with him. I find this purely offensive.

I took this poem to be a personal assault on my character. I do hope that in writing this letter I have sufficiently cleared my name and regained my dignity. Once more I declare that I am innocent of these accusations brought before me in this poem by Mr. John Donne.

Thank you,

Mr. William J. Bennet

Half Out of My Mind

A couple of weeks ago I did something kind of stupid. It was one of those things where someone talks you into doing something you know deep down is a stupid thing to do, but the person makes it sound so fun that you buy into the enthusiasm of the moment and just go for it. No thought, no consequences, JUST DO IT like Nike.

A younger me got caught up in these situations often, like throwing fireworks into the church campgrounds in Kilmacolm or mooning the security cameras in Yocum Hall or rolling the Anschutz' house even though Mr Anschutz was rumored to be the dad who would run you off his lawn pointing his rifle at you. It all seemed like a really good idea at the time.

This time, however, it wasn't my rambunctious friends convincing me to make wild, spontaneous, devil-may-care decisions. No, this time it was my dad.

I blame it all on him. As a kid, I desperately wanted his approval. As a teenager - well, we'll skip those years. As a college student, I wanted him to be proud of me. As an adult, I still can't shake the childish need to impress him. Maybe that's why I let him peer pressure me into this.

In his defense, I did start the conversation. It's been on my bucket list to run a race before I turn 35. My dad's a runner and a cyclist and has been nudging me to do a race with him for a couple of years. I brought the subject up, suggesting I might register for a 10k at some point.  But when he converted that to a number I could understand, and I realized that was only 6.2 miles, that just wasn't really any kind of a challenge. It would be too easy. I figured I could just about manage that now with zero training. So I let him talk up how great the Little Rock Half Marathon is, how great the trail is, how it's a perfect time of year to run. His enthusiasm began to rub off on me, and I began to think, "I can do this!"

And that's how he convinced me to sign up for a half marathon.

Half. Marathon. 13.1 miles.

What was I thinking?! I signed up to run a half marathon. I am not a runner! I do not enjoy running. I do not like to run. Why would I agree to run a half marathon?!

But I did. I signed up to run the race with my dad. I paid the registration fee. I ordered one of those water bottle packs that go around your waist and an armband thingie for my phone. I'm ready to go! Let's do this! I thought.

Until the next morning, when it dawned on me. I just paid money to put myself through utter, intense misery. 

I decided to ignore the nagging feeling that I'd gotten conned into doing something very stupid. I managed to ignore what I'd done until my dad texted me earlier this week to ask how my training was going. My response: ellipses. Training? Ha! The very thought of going for a run made me want to eat a donut and take a long nap on the couch with episodes of Gilmore Girls running in the background.

But the shaming worked. (Well played, Dad.) Dad's text, along with a little additional motivational shaming from my husband, pushed me to take the next step towards checking this item off my bucket list: begin training.

I decided tonight's the night. Wednesdays and Thursdays and one day on the weekend will be my training days. Tonight, after a 9 hour day at work, I came home, made a shepherd's pie from scratch (and by "shepherd", I just mean "cowherd" because beef is cheaper than lamb), helped the kids get into bed, and then I took off to the gym with my water bottle and Hamilton the Musical on my phone. My goal was to do four miles - whether I ran or walked, it didn't matter. Four miles.

I admit I did try to change my goal last minute ("How about four miles OR an hour, whichever comes first?"), but Scott gave me that shaming look again. Okay, fine. Four miles.

I got to the gym and started the treadmill. I almost chose one of the "performance" settings but rationalized that this being my first return to the gym after about two months, I'd better take it easy. I set a decent, cool pace and a flat trail and started jogging along to the genius rhymes of Lin-Manuel's account of our country's first Treasury Secretary.

I did my first mile in 15 minutes and five seconds. My second mile was complete before the 15 minute mark. Hey, I can do this! Two miles in under 30 minutes!

My third mile came in just over 15 minutes. But I was exhausted. My legs were burning. My lungs were aching. My stomach was threatening to hand me back my cowherd's pie. I slowed down but kept going. Four miles! I can do this! Almost there!

The last mile was painful, but I pushed through. If I'm honest, my secret goal was really to finish four miles in one hour. But as the hour ticked down to five minutes remaining, I knew I was unlikely to meet that goal. I picked up my pace, hoping to outrun the clock, but it was too much. I pulled my fourth mile in at 2 minutes and 10 seconds over an hour. I have never been so grateful for the cool down function on the treadmill in my life.

However, as I leaned over the handlebars gasping for breath and trying not to pass out in front of the hot, muscly guy running next to me, I realized that I just run almost a quarter of a half marathon. On my first night of training for a race that is still five months away. I can do this. I can do this!

#GymSelfie! Start of run - End of run ...

So at the end of the day, I still think I'd have preferred Dad talking me into going cow-tipping over running a half marathon, but maybe, just maybe, this will be okay too.

You better be proud of me when I cross that finish line, old man!

WWJD?

My husband is a Salesforce guy. He's always tsking about various organizations' and companies' poor handling of data and how they should try Salesforce.

I think churches could use Salesforce too. Imagine the marketing and donor tracking they could do with all that data! Just imagine...


It's WJWD.

Don't Be A Spector

Ahh it's been a while since I've posted church signs from the little country chapel down the road.  Not for lack of material, mind you.  Material has been abundant as ever. It's just that I was starting to feel a little sorry for them, that's all. I mean, some of the signs are just really poor spellings, and one of them was actually in memory of someone in the congregation who had died, and you just can't make fun of that, even if the spacing was so bad it took us several days to realize what it said.

I was starting to wonder if maybe the church sign man/lady is dyslexic and making fun of their signs was just mean. Or if maybe all their letters were getting stolen by delinquent local teens and they were determined to get their messages out to the public no matter how many letters the devil took away from them. Whatever the case, I was feeling guilty about it.

Then last week, this sign came up.

I saw it in passing and was totally confused.  Risking a car crash, I craned my neck backwards to read it again over my shoulder. What? I'd have to try again on the way home.

On the way home, I still couldn't read it, so I pulled over and took a picture.

"Are you a spector are precipitator."

Am I a ghost or a rainmaker?  Hmm, I'd have to think about that one. (Maybe I'm a filtration device.)

Or my more educated guess is that it's asking if I'm a "spectAtor" or a "PARTicipator".  Maybe the spelling is just really off, or they didn't have enough letters to ask me this, or maybe they wanted to be enigmatic to get me thinking?  Am I going to just spectate and not wonder any further what the sign means? Or will I participate in solving the puzzle?

I'll participate.  I'll blog about it.

I'm a precipitator.


P.S. For another discussion on strange church signs, check out this one from HeIsSailing.

Ways In Which Arkansas Wants To KILL You

With a severe weather warning season firmly upon us and after shooing a red wasp out of my car yesterday AND a suspiciously bulbous black spider with a violin on its back (red or white, which one is in under contract with Satan?), I decided it's time to make a list of some of the reasons I need to leave Arkansas.

Because Arkansas wants to KILL you.

1. Black Widows. It's like, it's not enough to just be a spider; it has to be an ugly, deadly one.
2. Brown Recluses. One that will destroy your flesh. Then kill you.
3. Red Wasps. So they may not kill you, but they will build their nests on your front porch and then attack you and sting the crap out of you. If they could talk, they'd have little collective demon voices.
4. Scorpions. So far, haven't seen one. But they are out there, and they are mean little bastards.
5. Ticks. Lyme Disease. Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever. And they will leave their heads inside your flesh if you aren't careful. WTF?
6. Rattlesnakes. Deadly AND have that creepy Western movie prelude playing in the background. Cue tumbleweed. Then death.
7. Copperheads. Seriously, these guys THRIVE in my neighborhood. Domesticity doesn't phase them one bit.
8. Baby copperheads. These little buggers are even meaner than their mamas.  Like little Children of the Corn, but snakes.
9. High heat indexes. If all of the above doesn't kill you first, the 110°F in the middle of July and August ought to finish you off.  And if even that can't take you down...
10. Tornadoes. No, seriously. Not being funny. I am terrified.

I'm actually not sure how I survived my first twenty-two years of my life living in this state and now the last almost two. Living in Arkansas is like playing a never-ending game of Russian roulette, and surely my luck is going to run out soon.

Church Signs To Make Your Skin Crawl

There's a church just down the road from me that needs my help.

Badly.

They change their signs weekly. I really, really wish I'd been photographing these slogans, but as soon as they are up, they are back down again. From now on, I make the commitment to photograph. Because it's just so sad.

They CANNOT spell.

A few weeks ago, the sign said "FORBIDEN FRUIT CREATES MANY JAMES!" I wanted desperately to remove the extra E and add a D. Then again, maybe it was a political statement. Maybe it was saying, "For Biden, fruit creates many, James!" Or something. I don't know. They've had spacing problems before.

Like a few weeks ago when they posted, "COME IN! GOD IS EXPECTING YOU!" But the spacing was all wrong and all I saw was "Come in! God i sexpecting you!" which of course, led some anonymous riff-raff to go and take away the first E and the I, making it "COM IN! GOD SEXPECTING YOU!" Sigh.

Today, the sign says:


"A FAMILY ALTAR CAN ALTAR FAMIY!" I get what they are doing here, I really do. But altar is different from alter. The first is a noun, the second a verb. If you want to be clever, you've just really got to spell like you're clever.

Also, did they run out of Ls or is that just another oopsie?

The other side is either another error, or just a really weird phrase.

We've all heard "Jesus loves me, this I know." But "Jesus knows me, this I know"? I don't get it. Maybe they are trying to turn a phrase. Or maybe they just got mixed up. Either way...

This church needs someone to review their signs before displaying. I'd do it for them for free. It's just gone well past humorous into cringe-worthy.

My heart actually hurts for their signs.

I Believe in the Traditional Definition

Marriage, ya'll.

In case you're just joining us here, I'm a person born with lady parts married to a person born with man parts. If you need proof, we have three biological children which can be verified as ours genetically through a simple DNA test. (No, I will not actually let you verify this via testing, so you're just going to have to trust me from here on out about that.)

So, just letting you know where I'm coming from.

I am also a very strong advocate for marriage equality. I 100% understand the arguments against it; I just think they are irrelevant. I think it is completely irrelevant whether one disapproves of homosexuality or not; it's not about approval or disapproval but about equal civil rights. If you are morally opposed to same-sex marriage, fine! Cool! Preach against it! Tell us all what you believe!! You can still be legislatively in favor though. Because - and maybe I'm going out on a limb, but I hope not - you are likely a really nice chap who really loves mankind and realizes that people are different, even if in your humble opinion they are wrong.


Last night I inadvertently kicked off yet another argument on Facebook (because somehow I can't post anything remotely political or religious, even if it's just about Hillary Clinton and includes the disclaimer "should be read by liberals", without causing an insurrection) and the subject rolled around to marriage equality, among other things.

Ahem.  Briefly, please, adjust Serious Volume to 10:

I am so tired of civil rights still being an argument. The bitter taste of Jim Crow is still on our lips; we are not so far past it to that we can forget how churches preached racism from the pulpit and legislation was passed to condone it. The generation before me can still remember the freedom fighters and the day the Civil Rights Act was passed and where they were when they heard of Martin Luther King, Jr's assassination. In the almost fifty years since, churches are still blushing at the way they preached against integration and interracial marriage and in large part have changed their practices and beliefs for the better.

And yet here we are again, banning legislation that would free LGBT human beings from discrimination and refusing to allow them equal rights. It's embarrassing. It just is.

Readjust Serious Volume.

So, after this uprising on Facebook, I got to thinking. This whole marriage equality thing could be put to rest if we could just think about it all in the context of...

Books.


I personally believe in the traditional definition of a book.

book

1. written or printed work consisting of pages glued or sewn together along one side and bound in covers.

2. a bound set of blank sheets for writing or keeping records in.

A book, as far as I'm concerned, is something I can hold in my hands, something I can smell, something that is beautiful and lasting. I cannot fathom why ANYONE would be attracted to...

An e-book.

e-book

1. an electronic version of a printed book that can be read on a computer or handheld device designed specifically for this purpose.

E-book?? I mean, what? Why? WHAT could be the attraction of an e-book? It is so... plain. So cold. There is no personality to an e-book. I will never be able to understand why anyone would look at a beautifully designed hardcover book with it's slick, attractive slip cover and it's crisp white pages covered in perfectly justified text printed in black ink, that fits perfectly on display on a bookshelf, and then look at an e-book, which isn't even a thing, and choose the e-book. I just don't get it.

But you know what?

If reading e-books floats your boat, knock yourself out. If for some crazy, depraved reason, you'd rather choose an e-book over a paperback, well by all means, go buy your Kindle, download a few e-books and read it to your heart's content. What you do in your personal reading time has no bearing on mine. I may not understand it, I may not like it, I may think reading e-books is pretty much a mortal sin, but I'm not the perpetrator. As long as you don't try to take away my physical books, I won't try to take away your digital ones.


People, gay couples getting married doesn't affect straight ones. It's not about beliefs or trying to usurp them or infringe upon them. People do not have to approve. One's deity does not have to approve. But we do not live in a theocracy. We live in a democracy, one that includes people who are different from each other, with different beliefs and different feelings and experiences. And those different people, have rights. They just do. They don't want to insult anyone else's experiences or beliefs. They just want what everyone else is allowed to have. They want equality.

Blacks wanted equality and had to fight hard (wait, "had" in past tense? sorry, "HAVE" to fight hard) for it. We are (or ought to be) embarrassed about this. Do we need to run around in the same circle again with our gay, lesbian, bisexual or transgender (etc) friends and fellow Americans? Really? Because the Bible tells me so? (Repeat: Civil Rights Act. Embarrassing, shameful times.)

Oops, forgot to ask you to adjust that Serious Volume there. Anyway.

Can't we just let people read whatever kind of books they like to read? Please? So we don't have to be embarrassed again in fifty years by our backwardness?

Ta.

P.S. Did you know some people like paper books AND e-books? Crazy.
P.P.S. I do not think e-books are the same as gay people, because, well, that's just illogical.

How To Solve The Biggest Problems With Baby Kittens

Sometimes I feel like writing or blogging but don't feel like I have anything to write about. Sometimes I'll read an article and think about discussing it, but I usually end up thinking it would make more sense just to link to the article itself and let you draw your own conclusions. And then sometimes I ask the internet for some inspiration. And the internet gives me this.

Because the internet loves me, and it loves baby kittens.

So today, I bring you How To Solve The Biggest Problems With Baby Kittens!


The subject first begs the question: What are the "biggest problems" and in what context are we speaking? Do we mean the World's Biggest Problems, and if so, what are they? Or do we mean the biggest problems baby kittens face? I'd like to think we're talking The Big Stuff here, so let's tackle the question of: Can the world's biggest problems really be solved with baby kittens?

The world's biggest problems, as far as I can tell are violence, pollution and hunger. Can baby kittens really solve all these problems?

When it comes to violence, I think the answer is simple. Yes. Baby kittens can curb violence in the world. There are large scale wars devastating entire nations while everyday crime occurring in neighborhoods destroy families and communities. Perhaps if we gave war councils a tiny baby kitten to hold and thugs some playful kittens to love, there would be less violence in the world. It is incredibly difficult to feel violent while holding a fluffy, sleeping, purring baby kitten in your lap. It just is.

Pollution, however, is much harder to solve simply with baby kittens but, I believe, not impossible. Large scale pollution, created by industries and for-profit corporations, is damaging our planet faster than they will ever admit. From the ozone layer to natural habitats to earth's limited resources - fracking, chemical waste and green house gases, among other things, are destroying our planet. Yet imagine if we loosed baby kittens over an oil field, or let them roam freely near a toxic waste dump? I am certain the very thought of disaster befalling baby kittens would cause all industries to reconsider how their actions are affecting this home we call Earth (though, admittedly, this has failed to save other species less cute than the Felis kittenus).

Finally, can baby kittens really solve hunger? While they may be small, they can be easily grown in large numbers, overcrowded in barns and bred for size and tenderness, just as we do our chicken, pigs and cows.

Thank you, good night and screw you, heartless food industry corporations.

You May Be a Fitness Junkie If:

1. You plan your social life and appointments around your workout schedule.


"Dr Murphy can see you at 10:40 on Tuesday. Will that work for you?"
"Oooh, sorry, I'll be at Body Pump at that time. Do you have anything after 11 but before 2?"

2. You're always trying to get your non-fitness friends to join you for a workout.

"You'd LOVE Zumba if you just tried it! You don't have to be coordinated! Well, you do a little bit, but after a few weeks, you'll get the hang of it!"

3. You have multiple pairs of athletic shoes, a different pair for each activity.

"These are for running, these are for weight training, these are for indoor cardio, these are for outdoor cardio, and these are for running errands in."

4. You post on Facebook at least once a week or more about your WODs or gains.

"Not my best, but you know, we were out of bacon this morning."

5. You use words like WODs, gains and macros in ordinary conversation as if everyone knows what you're talking about.

"I've had to recalculate my macros to factor in my gains."

6. Your idea of a lazy Saturday means taking a light jog or a Pilates class instead of your usual more strenuous activities.

"It was just a half marathon, not a full. No biggie."

7. You have insisted that your friends feel your biceps.

"No, seriously, FEEL THEM!"

8. You know the difference between wrist and chest heart rate monitors and that they don't give the correct algorithms for strength training since they are based on cardio.

"I hate that I can't figure out how to enter my chest reps into My Fifitness Pal."

9. When another fitness friend is having a bad day, instead of telling them to go home and relax because they deserve a break, you encourage them to go to the gym.

"Just go. You'll feel better."

10. Even when you're sick or having a bad day, you still choose to go work out.

"Feed a cold, starve a fever. Doesn't say anything about avoiding light cardio."

Thanks to Amy Belk, Kristy McElroy, Angie Schwab and Steve Arnold for lending me your photos!

If Babies Could Blog About Playdates

Today a friend and her two year old son came over for a play date at my house. From the grownups point of view, there isn't really much to say about it; we had a good chat in between child interruptings and planned to get our families together for a BBQ soon. But from the kids' point of view, I imagine the play date was very different.

So, if Jaguar could blog, he'd probably say something along the lines of this:


Me and my big sissy were just minding our own business, her watching bright colors talking on the TV and me pushing my green dump truck, when the door opened and in entered a big person and a little person.

The little person caught my interest. He was my size roughly. At first, he didn't seem very interesting; he just sat on the big person's (a mummy of some sort perhaps?) lap. When he got up, he was just trying to look out the window, not even noticing Mummy had brought out ALL MY TOYS! Mummy NEVER brings out ALL MY TOYS at once, so this was a big deal. Since the person my size - they kept calling him something weird which made no sense and I couldn't pronounce anyway, so I just called him 'Babeh' because I can say that and it makes more sense - wasn't even paying attention to the awesomeness that is ALL MY TOYS, I tried to gently encourage him to come play by dragging him by the neck. For some reason (weird babeh) he cried when I was just trying to show him ALL MY TOYS.

So a few minutes later, he finally came over to the toys that I'd poured all over the floor, so we could both see better, and guess what Babeh did - he started playing with my NOAH'S ARK! I mean, not my NOAH'S ARK!! Seriously, Babeh, that's MY Noah's Ark. So I gently tried to take it back and Babeh cried again!

But get this, ya'll. Mummy took MY Noah's Ark back off of me and gave it back to Babeh!!! Then she gave me a dumb old airplane instead, which was like, NO. But then I realized the airplane made noises, so it was cool. Noah's Ark's batteries are dying anyway and the noises don't work.

So me and Babeh played with those toys for a little bit. I liked having Babeh there. We're both short, and we both like to play with toys, and get this - he knew what a potty was! Just like me! And Babeh was so cool, he didn't even try to use my potty, he just looked at it and used the Big Boy Potty in the bathroom, which was nice of him.

But just as things were getting good with Babeh, I noticed Babeh had MY TRUCK!!! Guys, that is MY truck!! So naturally, I once again gently tried to persuade him to give me back my truck by pushing him in the face, and Babeh responded by pulling my hair! I'm, like, you take MY truck out of the toy box and when I nicely push you to get it back you PULL MY HAIR? Me and Babeh were both crying now, and our mummies picked us up and gave us both into trouble. Not fair.

Babeh was a cool kid though, because he gave me the truck and I signed 'Thank You' back to him, and we were friends again. Mummy even gave him another one of my trucks (which I had to try hard to not get upset about), and me and Babeh rolled our trucks around on the table for awhile. Until Babeh tried to swap trucks with me, and then it all started all over again. He pushed me so I tried to bite him. Unfortunately Mummy pulled me away before I could really show him how I felt about him trying to swap trucks.

I calmed down though, and we started playing with blocks together. We were sharing SO GOOD, ya'll, and our mummies kept saying nice stuff like, "Good boys" and "Nice sharing" and that made me feel pretty awesome.

Then this one thing happened.

See, sometimes when Mummy opens up her mouth wide, I stick my finger in her mouth. It's kind of a thing we do, I guess you could say. So Babeh opened his mouth and I thought he was doing the thing too, so I stuck my finger in his mouth and want to know what he did? He bit me! He bit down on my finger! Mummy once again rushed over to intervene, and I was pretty distraught. Mummy kept saying stuff like "You shouldn't have put your finger in his mouth" like it was MY fault he bit me! Crazy. Mummies just DON'T GET IT.

Well, so we played a little while longer, and even though Babeh kept playing with my toys, which sometimes was okay but sometimes was totally NOT okay, we were having a good time. Until I wanted both of the trucks (they're MINE!) and Babeh started crying and Mummy tried to take one of the trucks off of me and I started crying and it was just really terrible what she was doing to me. I have to admit, I had a little bit of a breakdown, throwing myself on the floor kicking and screaming. It wasn't my best moment, but what would YOU do if your Mummy tried to take one of your trucks (that belong to YOU) away from you and give one to another person?

Well, mummies talk about these things I can't pronounce ("consequences" or some weird thing like that), and I guess that's what happened next because Babeh started pulling on his mummy and pointing at the door and saying "Go". So you know what happened next? Babeh left! He left!! My best friend, the best person in the WHOLE WIDE WORLD left!! I was devastated. Why did Babeh have to go? I loved Babeh!

Mummy said I was "tired" and I was like "I'm NOT tired, I just didn't want Babeh to leave (or play with my trucks)" but Mummy put me down for a nap anyway. I was SO NOT TIRED, but I ended up falling asleep right away anyway because my pillow felt SO GOOD to my head and it really had been a rather eventful morning.

The end.

Confessions

I think it's time to come clean about something.

I've been keeping this little secret for a long time. Actually, that's not fair. In all honesty, I had no idea how completely this has had a hold over me. To say I've been keeping it a secret would imply that I realized it's power over me and have been concealing it. In truth, it's been concealing itself from me.

Only a few people in my life are aware of what I'm about to share. Yet I feel there are probably many of you out there who have the same problem. This needs to be said.

I have an addiction.

It's not an illegal addiction, like heroin. It's not a semi-legal addiction like alcohol. Instead it's a fully legalized, even encouraged substance that I'm addicted to.

Friends, I am a carbaholic.

*****

I thought I had my addiction under control. I thought I could stop whenever I wanted. I thought it was a minor thing, doing only minor damage to my health. I even believed at times that carbohydrates were good for me. But the truth is, I am dangerously addicted to this substance, and I always will be.

Once an addict, always an addict.

Scott and I went on a ketogenic diet starting the first of January. Basically, we went cold turkey. For the first few days, the withdrawal was awful. I got shakes and a headache; I felt grumpy and depressed. A couple of days later, however, I started feeling great. The cravings were gone! Physically anyway. The mental addiction was still strong; I opened the cupboards several times a day looking for a tasty snack. I wanted to put food in my mouth. I satiated myself with cheese slices and boiled eggs to help me get over the habit of snacking. For three weeks, we stuck to our carb-fast impressively, and I never felt better.

Then one day, we fell off the wagon. Just like that. It was so easy to do. We went on a date, a rare thing when you have kids, and decided to treat ourselves to a little cake. We shared one small slice of chocolate fudge cake with ice-cream. While it tasted heavenly, the sickness immediately followed. We vowed never to eat carbs again; we felt so awful. I even felt morally guilty about it. Yet only an hour later, at the cinema, we decided to just 'go with it' and order popcorn too. Again, we felt awful afterwards, and all night I wrestled with nausea. We abstained from carbs for the next week or so, trying to get back into ketosis, going through the withdrawal symptoms again.

But after only another week or two, the urges returned. I started getting careless, wreckless. A little chocolate here, a bit of toast there. Surely one little bite won't hurt. Before I knew it, I was fully back into the ways of carb addiction again. I wake up each morning determined 'today will be different' but end up blowing it by noon.

I have a problem.

I need help.

I want to get to a stage where I can live without carbs, and if I do want to indulge quietly every once in a while, the same way I occasionally enjoy a drink of alcohol, I won't binge. I don't know if this is possible, but it's the goal.

The first step to overcoming addiction is to admit you have a problem.

Hi, my name is Lori and I'm a carboholic.

America: The Beautiful?

I hate to get involved in the Culture Wars, except while in my own home where my husband and I like to mercilessly berate anyone whose views differ from ours and are therefore wrong, but it's late, and my sound judgement is maybe a little off kilter, and I'm just going to say this:

If anyone I know complains on Facebook about the SuperBowl Coca-Cola ad, I will de-friend them.

Yeah, it's maybe a little extreme, and I'm probably going to regret saying that in the morning, and in the end, I'll probably only remove you from my feed as opposed to full-fledged de-friending (maybe), but at this moment, when I'm feeling a little keto-woozey on my half-dram of Glenlivet, I am utterly disgusted with certain Americans right now. America the Beautiful? It is, but it's also made up of a lot of seriously un-beautiful jackasses.

"America the Beautiful" was sung multi-lingually in a Coke ad. It was a nice ad. It was ethnocentric (no, really, America, it was. It was America-worship.), but it was nice. Lots of people singing in their first languages. I heard some Spanish, some French, some German, was that some Arabic? and lots of other languages I'm not educated enough to recognize. It started and ended in English, of course. Me and my family, while watching the SuperBowl, joked that people were going to get all riled up, 'Murica-style about it, but we were only kidding. When Scott told me it really had caused a controversy, I thought he was messing with me. He sent me a link; I assumed it was a hoax site.

But no, really. People are ACTUALLY mad that Coke sang an American song in - gasp - a different language! You mean, all Americans don't speak American? Send those immigrants home!

Oh wait.

Seriously. I shouldn't even have to explain what is wrong with that line of thinking. There is so much wrong with it. I'm going to assume no one needs me to go into all the levels of wrong and stupid this is.

Because if you have a problem with this ad, you are not only an idiot, but you are an idiot. Yeah, I did that on purpose, because there is no other term for the idiocy that these racist Americans are spewing all over the internet. I have no respect for racists. I have some respect sometimes for idiots who can't help being idiots, but not for racist idiots.

MID-STREAM DISCLAIMER: Scott hates when I blog stuff like this. Sorry, honey, blame the whisky. Scott is not affiliated in any way with his wife. Except through marriage but that's different.

Apparently, part of the controversy is that they sang that particular song. Like it's a particularly English-only song. Either people are enraged because it's an American song sung by - gasp - bilingual Americans, or they think it's the national anthem. (To which I ask, why would that matter anyway? And also, it's not.) Is there something unpatriotic about languages that aren't English? Psst. Here's a bit of trivia for you. English isn't our language anyway. We stole it from, you know, England. Unless you are Native American, your own ancestors spoke a different language too upon arriving on this soil (unless they were from, you know, England). Come to think of it, if you ARE Native American, your ancestors also spoke a different language before the Europeans - some of them even spoke English - forced them off their own land and nearly annihilated their entire population with guns and disease.

Anyway, my diatribe is coming to an end. I've just run out of irritated steam. If you haven't seen the ad, here it is, in all it's linguistic glory.



***Now go read this to see what real-live Americans have to say about it.

Speak English!: Racist Revolt as Coca-Cola Airs Multilingual 'America the Beautiful' SuperBowl Ad

Drummers Make Lousy Lovers

All my writing focus has been on my "project" as of late (and I've been writing like a ... a ... steam engine.) I hate to neglect my dear, faithful blog though, so I offer a sacrificial poem. An old one, but one of my favourites. Young love...


Photo Credit - Thor Muller - Flickr
Drummers Make Lousy Lovers

All the peanut butter, honey and banana sandwiches in the world
will not stop these tears from waterfalling,
and I’ll never take another entomology special study
without daydreaming of our favorite black putrefaction
that we love so dearly and know so well,
thanks to those morbid phone hours we wasted.
And next time I dance I won’t lead because you taught me how,
and I’ll choose white over wheat out of spite.
And when the daffodils die, Spring will too, and I hate that
but it happens, just like long wavy brown hairs that I find on my bed
that aren’t mine or yours happen, but I’m not assuming anything.
Good Records leaves a bad taste in my mouth and E.T.
might as well fly me across the moon
since you just let me fall half way.
Take my spare key and clip it to your belt loop and see if I call back.
I probably will, you know that’s my downfall,
but at least I haven’t driven by your duplex yet, wouldn’t that be psychotic?
And now pink toenails or French manicures seem ridiculous,
and why do I shave my legs after all? I never wondered before,
thanks, darling, for whitewashing my brain.
Power chords still play though we never wrote those songs,
and in church I won’t sit by you, and we’ll see who talks about it.
I’ll still read a book a month, even though I’m behind,
but all the upside down kisses in the world
and all the green tea can’t fix what you broke.

"Clever Men--GAH": A 2005 Unpublished Post

Back in 2005, when we had only been married a few months, I wrote this post but never published it. I've never been able to delete it though because it makes me giggle. Especially now, all these years later, because I still think it's for the most part pretty true. At the end I mention Scott will kill me for posting it. I still maintain that. But I'm tired of seeing it in my Draft folder, and I know I'll never delete it, so it must be time to Publish. Sorry, Scott, for the husband worship below.

Scott & Lori, December 2005

I think my husband is a genius. Like a genuine way-up-in-the-clouds IQ type genius. I can't decide if this is fascinating or frustrating.

I got an inkling of Scott's intelligence when we were dating. His uncanny ability to know absolutely everything gave me a clue. But now that I actually live with him and have realised that there is hardly any use in arguing with him at all makes me almost certain.

This is incredibly frustrating news.

How is it that Scott can out of the blue tell me about mating patterns connected with the urine of ladybugs? And how come he was trying to explain how Newtonian physics is actually only partially right according to Quantum physics when he's never even actually studied Quantum physics? Apparently only like one person in 10,000 understands Quantum physics... I can't even spell it while Scott is trying to explain it to me in bed last night.

I tried to retaliate by talking about photons in photosynthesis, but Scott corrected me.

I just didn't argue.

I read an article yesterday about "alpha females" being less likely to marry. Apparently for every 16 points a woman's IQ goes up, her likelihood to marry goes down 40%. However it works just the other way around for men. Which must explain how Scott got married when he was only 20.

Let me point out here that it's not just that Scott is an encyclopaedia of interesting facts. It's that Scott could read an encyclopaedia of interesting facts and he'd have it memorized. Scott doesn't know things because he learned them, he knows things because they simply are.

He's gonna kill me for posting this.

A Christmas Lights Story

Quote of the night: "I can't wait for this to be over so we can go get smoothies."

That's the gr-attitude we got for sitting in 45 minutes of traffic to go see some Christmas lights with which to delight our children. Thanks, Fifi.

Everyone told us that Sherwood Forest was a great place to go see lights, so we headed out to drive the 30 minutes into Sherwood. All was going fine until we pulled onto the street leading to the light display... and came to a stand still. The forest, according to GPS was only 1 mile away, but the traffic was back to back the whole way. Literally, we pulled onto the road at 6.19, and we pulled into the forest at 6.55. Then we entered the actual light display at 7.10. And we were back out of the display at 7.30.


That's the kids all getting a little stir crazy in the back seat.

I kept them entertained (and probably the people in the car behind me) while we waited with a laser pointer. That was Scott's clever idea.

But as we drove through the lights, we decided it was kind of worth it. It was fun. Not entirely sure it was wait-in-traffic-for-the-better-part-of-an-hour fun, but fun nonetheless. Fifi, after her exasperated remarks on waiting in the queue ended up exclaiming that this was the best thing that ever happened to her, so that was something.


Because it was Sherwood Forest, of course.


My favourite one. It was animated with the finger buttons moving and swirleys coming out the bell.


Because in America it's a sin to not pay tribute to the flag at every single holiday. This one had animated fireworks.


A fun little display. Reindeer practice.


Santa worshipping baby Jesus. Oh my giddy aunt, there is just too much to say about this one. I'll just leave it with 'LOL'.


Santa waving bye-bye. Thanks for waiting in the queue for half your night! Fifi, you can finally go get those smoothies you've been waiting for!

While Our Minds Are Still In the Crapper...

Banoffee has been spending an awful lotta time on the crapper too!


Don't you just love the tiny elf pants?

And we all know elves do cute poops like this.


After all, if they only eat sugar and candy, they can only poop out sugar and candy. Logic.

And also on the subject of yesterday's sex talk, I realized I totally missed a trick in not posting this...


Banoffee gettin' jiggy with it. Elf porn. (Watch the hits roll in.) Sex is durty. Merida should be ashamed of herself.

When our kids grow up, they will be mortified by what Banoffee will get up to. Just sayin'.

Caution: The Following Text Contains Lots of Baddie Words

Back in the bright and sunny days of high school, I was in Forensics. My particular favourite individual events were Poetry, Duet Acting, Mime and Duet Improv. Our team travelled all over the state competing in tournaments, and we were pretty damn good. Oh, okay, I'll drop the modesty, we were awesome. Like, any time we didn't win FIRST place at a tournament, we were PISSED. We took this shiz frickin' seriously.

If the tournament was a local one, we'd now and again get a supportive parent coming along to watch us compete. One such time, my dear mother came to watch Zac and I do Improv. Zac and I were pretty good at Improv, not the top best, but we could usually manage to get to the Finals, though we didn't often win the trophy. That day, and the details are hazy, we must have really screwed up, because all I remember was this: Me storming out of the performing room with Zac at my heels, my mom in the back, and spitting furiously, 'We really FUCKED that up.'

Then I recall my whole world going cold as I realized my mom just heard me drop the f-bomb. Hard. Like Nagasaki hard. And cussing in my household - well, let's just say it was akin to losing my vocabularic virginity. In front of my mom.

She said nothing, but the tension was so dense I needed headlights to find the next round through it. Mom said nothing until the next morning after I'd thought it had all blown over, or maybe even she'd never heard it at all. Then she said with the same unnerving calm of a doctor phoning to tell you the results of your brain scan, 'I'm disappointed that you used such language.'

Kill. Me. Now. No really, I'd have rather she beat me with her hair dryer than use the D word on me.

Me and my friends winning trophies NOT on that day.

I had an interesting discussion going on over on my Facebook page. I asked if parents of teens swear in front of their kids and/or do they allow their kids to swear in front of them. The question was inspired by a post on Moms Who Drink and Swear's Facebook page. All these people were talking about how they 'cuss like a sailor' but don't dare allow their kids to swear. Many of them admitted to swearing directly in front of their kids but still put the Hell No to them returning the favour. So naturally I wanted to know if this was how all Potty Mouths felt on the subject.

In my most humble opinion, words are just words. And it's not the word itself that matters, it's the way it is used and the way it is received. I think swear words have a perfectly legitimate place in the lexicon and often drive a point home more sharply than many of its fellow adjectives/verbs/nouns. If I'd have growled, 'We really MESSED that up', well, my point would not really have gotten across. We didn't just mess up, we FUCKED up. Big difference.

Yet how it is taken by others is important to me. I really care about how others feel, and I try to respect everyone's beliefs and opinions. I don't see the point in offending people just for the sake of offending them. Or because I am 'free' to say whatever I want to say, despite how it may affect others. I think that mindset is insensitive, and truly the last thing I'd ever want anyone to call me is insensitive. I am usually surrounded by people who do not appreciate harsh language, and out of sensitivity to them, I refrain from using it. In general, I swear very little. Scott and I don't swear in front of our kids - yet - because we don't wish to hear them start swearing - yet. I don't often swear on my blog either, out of respect for my motherly readers (mom, step-mom, mother-in-law). My internal dialogue, however? Is pretty much a constant stream of fucks, shites, buggers, bloody hells, arses, bitches and tossers. I do draw the line though at the c-word (shiver) and the other f-word (ack!). Words referring to milady's undercarriage, if you get my drift.

Will I swear in front of my kids and allow them to swear in front of me? Yeah, I probably will. But like anything else, I expect them to understand its context and when and where it is acceptable to swear. (In front of Granny? No. Church? Please refrain. At the football player who could kick your ass? Best keep it to yourself.) I'd also prefer they not use it simply as a filler word between every other word, as some are wont to do. There is a whole rich language out there for us to use - try some descriptive nouns first, if you can, to fully illustrate your point. When all else fails, THEN cuss the shit out of that bitch.

I'd also prefer they not swear AT me. Just as I do not intend to ever swear AT them, I'd expect the same respect. We may fight now and then, and choice words may at times flow, but really, what's the big deal? Which is worse to say, 'This is total bullshit!' or 'You're a complete waste of space!' One has the 'bad' word in it, but the other actually hurts. Scott and I have been known to throw choice words at each other in heated moments, but we forgive each other, and I'm guessing we'll forgive our potty-mouthed angels should it come to that too.

One final thought... who decides what words are 'profanity' to begin with? I laugh about it, because what is a sweary word in the US is not necessarily a sweary word in the UK, and vice versa. What constitutes a bad word anyway? One of my best friends is from Slovakia. She uses the f-word a lot, because to her, it doesn't sound like a bad word. Same with me and the word 'bugger'. It's cute, right? 'Ass' and 'shit' are quite inappropriate in the US but 'arse' and 'shite' are euphemisms. But in the UK, 'arse' and 'shite' are pretty bad, but ass and shit are euphemisms. And then I've found this, a site where people can submit bad words. Of the submissions, along with lovely little slurs like 'assclown' and 'homodumbshit' (who says that?), are 'anus' and 'vagina'. Uh, what? How are those bad words? They are biological, scientific names for body parts, you assclown. I'm quite sure the prude who submitted those words would die of heart failure if they heard my daughters refer to their vulvas or my son to his penis. Hey, Puritan, those aren't bad words!! Save your shock for racial slurs and gay bashing.

I'll end with my favourite swear-word story. On the subject of words being bad in one culture but not another, I'll never forget the day my college French professor shut the door and announced we'd be learning French swear words. She taught us merde, casse-toi, salaud and chienne. Then a girl who was from Trinidad and Tobago raised her hand and asked, 'How do you say, Grab your mother's c*nt??'

The class, previously roaring in laughter, came to an abrupt, uncomfortable silence. The teacher was speechless. The poor girl had no idea what she'd done wrong. It was single-handedly the most awkward moment of my entire life.




My hits for this post ought to be off the charts.