tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-41994524071960631302024-03-05T15:04:03.281-07:00Random Fartings of a Gaseous MindAdventures in apostate parenting, mid-life crisis and other random shit.Just Zenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03852070305659271000noreply@blogger.comBlogger208125truetag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4199452407196063130.post-70999758892990372432012-10-02T16:48:00.002-06:002012-10-02T17:16:19.999-06:00Scout-O-Drama--OR--You know you haven't blogged in a while when you've forgotten your passwordA friend asked me to attend a Court of Honor a few days ago. I didn't know the soon-to-be Eagle Scout but since this good friend wanted me to go, I went. Not a big deal, right? Just an hour of my life. I really wasn't expecting the mental assault I received.<br />
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Just walking into the church building was rough. It's been awhile since I've darkened any church doorway and I thought maybe the walls would fall down. But it was a fairly new building so the foundation stayed solid. I did notice that the familiar race-track floor plan had been modified somewhat and no longer did the hallway make a complete loop around. (I'm not sure why that even caught my attention but felt sorry for those poor children who could no longer run laps during sacrament meeting,)<br />
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We crept into the back of the cultural hall and found seats. The meeting had already started and the smell of the polished wooden floor and folding chairs filled my nose. Familiar yet unsettling. The passing out of earned awards was in full swing, the balding scout master running the show. It took far too long to get to the part of the meeting we'd come for. Meanwhile I watched the woman sitting in front of me. She had a short, serviceable haircut and cardigan and was wrestling four very small boys, bringing out her "quiet bag" with it's laminated folders of activities that she'd made in homemaking or some other wholesome meeting. I felt exhausted and heavy just watching her struggle to keep them somewhat quiet. Her husband went to sit in the "eagle's nest", taking one child and leaving his wife with the other three. How kind of him to take the baby, the most well-behaved of all.<br />
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Finally a guy in a shockingly hip, light gray double-breasted suit got the court of honor going. (No dark polyester there!) He talked about how wonderful eagle scouts were. How everyone wanted them. The military, employers, just everyone! They were elite and rare. Only five percent of scouts attained the rank of eagle and that made them better than anyone else.<br />
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From the time I had driven into the parking lot my stomach had been wobbly and sick. The tension in my body continued to build as the night went on I was assaulted by tension and bitterness which built to excessive proportions. My muscles tensed to jump up and I longed to yell, "I know three eagle scouts who would not be welcome in this room and would not be allowed to ever serve in the scouting program! Three of these elite young men that could never have become eagle scouts if their sexual orientation had been known. Three good men who have been thrown aside because of the bigotry and hypocrisy of close-minded leadership and the sheep who mindlessly follow along! Fuck you and your damn scouts!"<br />
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Of course, it wasn't the time or place and I bit my tongue and felt the urge wash through me and out again. I felt physical ill and beaten. This was not a healthy place for me. As soon as possible we slipped through the double doors, passing the mother holding one of her restless sons, and escaped into the fresh evening air.<br />
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I wonder about that young mother and what the future holds for her and her family. Having four boys makes the odds of having a gay son much higher, doesn't it? If that happens to her, I hope she embraces the chance to have a most unique and wonderful son. I happen to think they are far better than any old eagle scout.Just Zenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03852070305659271000noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4199452407196063130.post-6942273837519663652012-06-28T14:41:00.000-06:002012-06-28T14:41:37.822-06:00House of phlegmA nasty virus has taken hold in our house, turning into bronchitis in one daughter and pneumonia in the other The rest of us suffer from seasonal allergies, including the dog. I have to admit that watching a crazy, naked poodle let out a series of delicate sneezes after taking a whiz in the backyard makes my day.<br />
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So between animals and people we have phlegm and mucous to spare. Luckily, the nasty viruses and germs seem to have subsided for the moment leaving just the echo of coughing, some bruised ribs and hundreds of used tissues.<br />
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Meanwhile, I had a guest post on a friend's blog under my own name. Yes, I came out of the closet, so to speak, and wrote about being the mother of a gay son. Maybe I'm ready to come out from behind Zena's metal bustier and show the world who I have evolved into these past 50 years.Just Zenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03852070305659271000noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4199452407196063130.post-35446646381459351942012-06-02T11:49:00.002-06:002012-06-02T15:31:59.366-06:00Crazy bigots with guns<br />
It was three days into my new job and I'm still trying to learn everything. (There's so FREAKING MUCH to learn and it hurts my brain but I'm trying.) Just when I felt like I was getting a grip on the service desk (where the returns and disgruntled customers go) something unexpected happened.<br />
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A man approached the desk and asked to speak to a manager. Now, technically I'm a manager and can handle some of these situations, but since I still don't know shit I asked him what it was about so I could decide if I needed to call someone else over. This man stood there in his blue "Freedom" T-shirt with an eagle spread across his chest and a big, black gun strapped to his hip and replied, "I'm here to protest your stance on gay marriage."<br />
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Well, blow me down. (Not literally, though.) That's the last thing I expected him to say but after taking him all in, I knew exactly which side of the issue he was on. He might as well have had Gayle Ruzika in that holster. Knowing this whole situation was waaaaay out of my depth, I called over another manager. The tiny blonde woman calmly let the man talk, then politely thanked him for sharing his views and watched him walk out the door. The two of us stood in our red shirts and stared at each other for a moment. Then Tiny Blonde Manager said, "I really wanted to tell him I'm going to Pride this weekend."<br />
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For the rest of the day I was just in shock that someone would feel the need to CARRY A GUN TO A SMALL, QUIET, SUBURBAN STORE. The only reason I could think of was subtle (or not so subtle) intimidation. Not that he even touched the gun or brought any attention to it, but just the fact of it's bulk hanging there on his side was a threat. He was the fourth man within an hour to come in specifically to share that opinion but he was the only one packing heat. I also felt a growing anger that I couldn't voice MY opinion right back at him. If I hadn't been wearing that damn red shirt that means I'm representing the company, I would have freely given MY opinion. "I won't tell you who your children can marry if you don't tell me who my children can marry. And fuck you." Or I could just politely invite them to shop across the street at <a href="http://abcnews.go.com/blogs/business/2012/06/jc-penney-comes-out-with-another-gay-friendly-ad/" target="_blank">J C Penney.</a> Heh.<br />
<br class="Apple-interchange-newline" />Just Zenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03852070305659271000noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4199452407196063130.post-27192470747890952212012-05-30T09:28:00.000-06:002012-05-30T09:28:22.697-06:00A terminal case of khaki assA full-time job opportunity cropped up recently at one of my part-time jobs. It involves a healthy pay increase, paid holidays and vacation and full health benefits. Woot! Just what I was looking for! But there is one definite drawback. I have to wear khaki pants. Full-time khaki ass. I have yet to find a pair that don't start bagging and sagging after a few hours and make me look like I'm carrying a lumpy sack of potatoes around behind me. No matter how long the shirt I wear to cover the spuds, it finds a way to ride up in back and let it all hang out. The inventor of khaki pants is a certified sadist.<br />
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Working retail and wearing ugly pants when I'm 50 years old was never a dream of mine. But sometimes life takes unexpected twists and turns for the better. I'm going to make sure this is one of them.Just Zenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03852070305659271000noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4199452407196063130.post-69812616504757340302012-05-24T14:41:00.000-06:002012-05-24T14:43:27.064-06:00This could be a sign of addiction...There's something about playing those stupid Facebook games that numbs the senses. The click of the mouse becomes soothing as you mindlessly complete game after game. Your brain doesn't have to think about the smelly mess in the kitchen that just keeps getting bigger; the laundry escaping from my daughter's doorway and spilling into the hallway; the bills that I don't know how I'm going to pay; the funny noise the car started making; all that stuff that makes me crazy. Just click, click, click it all into white noise in the background of my brain. Almost as good as booze.<br />
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But when I started using my dog's Facebook page (don't mock me, he's adorable and has friends that I don't even have) to feed my hunger for more games, it became a problem. I could waste even more time! Today I considered making a profile for my other dog. I think I just might be an addict. Maybe.Just Zenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03852070305659271000noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4199452407196063130.post-69885922869794917132012-05-18T08:46:00.001-06:002012-05-18T08:46:16.124-06:00Serious or satire?I've been trying to write a serious post about guilt, mothers and Mother's Day but it turned into an incoherent rant about shitty mothers and crappy holidays so I gave up. I went for satire and got another <a href="http://whiteanddelightsome.com/?p=3056" target="_blank">guest post on White and Delightsome.</a> Remember Molly? Well, she's driving Bishop Thurmond to...eat. Heh. I'm not eating doughnuts and other carbs so I might as well write about them.Just Zenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03852070305659271000noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4199452407196063130.post-26044508148224288912012-05-10T11:33:00.001-06:002012-05-10T11:34:17.755-06:00This kid knows me so well...My eldest son texted me the other day.<br />
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Him: Would you like some GinFlowers for Mother's Day?</div>
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Me: Can you drink them?</div>
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Him: Yes! I've been told the Rangpur Roses are especially lovely this time of year.</div>
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So I know I'll be getting one damn good gift for Mother's Day. Too bad I'll be working and won't be able to imbibe. I'm thinking the most epic way to spend that horrid day would be to stay drunk and stoned the entire time, thus ensuring I would have no memory of it the next day. Maybe next year. A mom can dream...</div>Just Zenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03852070305659271000noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4199452407196063130.post-58016498812495835752012-04-28T14:02:00.000-06:002012-04-28T14:02:09.173-06:00The utter joy of daughtersI'm so grateful to have my older daughter home from college for the summer. Without her here I wouldn't know:<br />
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That my arm hairs are getting freakishly long.<br />
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The calorie content of whatever I'm eating.<br />
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That my sweater is ugly.<br />
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That we have nothing good to eat in the house.<br />
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That I tell "everyone" "everything".<br />
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And last but not least, I wouldn't know how incredibly unhappy she is to be back home and how much she hates it. Hmmm. Being someplace you don't want to be and doing things you'd rather not be doing. Welcome to my life.<br />
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I'm breaking out the gin and funny dog pictures. It's gonna be a looooong summer.<br />
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<br />Just Zenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03852070305659271000noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4199452407196063130.post-79778276058295486882012-04-17T10:56:00.001-06:002012-04-17T10:58:50.993-06:00It sounds better with animal pictures<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiowbKJAGmXxGeZkWL_LusCYDchmP3hcTbu0gwFjeLVK7mNlwMX2l5F2n3KcYXpWE5DvZwvTqTc3dtXxRZpWN6FJVbcI0xGwCbEWC4dYMcQBliqBQFnoWwIEyuMUaPf6hwaieuc0_pkziyc/s1600/funny-dog-pictures-its-called-a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiowbKJAGmXxGeZkWL_LusCYDchmP3hcTbu0gwFjeLVK7mNlwMX2l5F2n3KcYXpWE5DvZwvTqTc3dtXxRZpWN6FJVbcI0xGwCbEWC4dYMcQBliqBQFnoWwIEyuMUaPf6hwaieuc0_pkziyc/s320/funny-dog-pictures-its-called-a.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>So I've been uncharacteristically bitchy the past few weeks. Life has seemed way too hard and everything gets on my nerves. It hasn't been a pretty sight.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5vcljUGpPvVRJafUP02PUNgRIu_jKK6kU6noaTdML6xBorXJo2hvHLomGVDnND6UAzf0NmuG1Xxsvu5zZyXhdfmeiI2wNrnNKhcaYVdr7pTr5jGgKtEaCL6Fb5dy-ua9yPj0gsTs5RrqP/s1600/funny-animal-captions-animal-capshunz-everybody-needs-an-ego-boost.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5vcljUGpPvVRJafUP02PUNgRIu_jKK6kU6noaTdML6xBorXJo2hvHLomGVDnND6UAzf0NmuG1Xxsvu5zZyXhdfmeiI2wNrnNKhcaYVdr7pTr5jGgKtEaCL6Fb5dy-ua9yPj0gsTs5RrqP/s320/funny-animal-captions-animal-capshunz-everybody-needs-an-ego-boost.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>But suddenly, from out of the blue, comes a compliment and a wonderful possibility... It's nice to know when you're noticed and appreciated. Being called a fine-ass tree princess doesn't hurt either.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih2JT09t2ZkVe706u8kWjmtx46lAZG_DqK0tRezBZgFSWujaUH_QgrwRSiIfl4je1fGhXS_1VPRkk8CwigiwIA-9qKreX-2jueBDSziJOk3wm0GlGnVtTIojhIw3GAT6QP4d0b14r8F4C8/s1600/va3YK.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih2JT09t2ZkVe706u8kWjmtx46lAZG_DqK0tRezBZgFSWujaUH_QgrwRSiIfl4je1fGhXS_1VPRkk8CwigiwIA-9qKreX-2jueBDSziJOk3wm0GlGnVtTIojhIw3GAT6QP4d0b14r8F4C8/s320/va3YK.jpg" width="192" /></a></div>So maybe soon I'll be able to shake off the reins and that damn, itchy saddle and run wild and free, my hair blowing in the wind and laughing at the world again. (But maybe with smaller teeth and less facial hair.)Just Zenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03852070305659271000noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4199452407196063130.post-24543031468057325482012-04-12T18:25:00.000-06:002012-04-12T18:25:13.535-06:00Guilt and cookiesI got a call on my cell yesterday while I was at work. A perky, unfamiliar voice piped into my ear.<br />
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"Hi, this is Sis. Whatserbutt...from the ward? We're visiting people tomorrow night as a Relief Society presidency and we'd like to come visit you."<br />
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First of all, if her name starts with "sister", I figure she's from the ward. I'm not stupid. And I was supposed to be touched that they thought of poor little ol' apostate me. But when I replied that I was working that night and wouldn't be available, all I got was:<br />
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"Oh, okay! Bye!"<br />
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She sure didn't try very hard but she tried hard enough to count me as contacted! Her job was done.<br />
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But the Saturday of general conference, I had a very different sort of visit from my long-time visiting teacher. I don't see her often and that's been fine with me because any contact with the church tends to make me break out in hives and boils. But she showed up this day with a plate of cookies and a smile and asked if she could please still come and visit me and she was sorry she hadn't been better at coming regularly. I told her, of course she could! I'd always welcomed her when she came. I've known her for years and had been her visiting teacher years before when her husband died of cancer. We'd never been extremely close but we'd been casual friends. Then she blurted out something I never expected to hear.<br />
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"My son is gay!"<br />
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Shock and worry showed on her face and she started wringing her hands. "I shouldn't have said that! I don't know why I did!" <br />
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A very small part of me wasn't surprised at the idea of her son being gay. I'd watched him grow up and I'd wondered at times. But hearing the words actually come out of her mouth shocked the snot out of me. I could see how difficult those words were for her to say. I had an inkling of the path she'd traveled to even be able to utter those words. I knew she'd been inactive for a few years but I'd been going through my own faith crisis and hadn't given much thought about the reasons. I remembered her son had gone to the MTC and returned after a few weeks, not once, but <u>twice</u>. It doesn't take a genius to guess some of the reasons behind it. We will do lunch and share our pain and our paths to peace and acceptance, whatever they may be. She is reaching out to me, not because I'm an assignment, but because she wants a listening ear, understanding and acceptance. And I will gladly give it.Just Zenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03852070305659271000noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4199452407196063130.post-23663270517806678932012-04-07T08:14:00.000-06:002012-04-07T08:14:54.346-06:00Well, that was a fast mourning period...My trusty old laptop passed away this week. I didn't see it coming. One morning he was just...gone. I couldn't turn him on at all. (Kind of like the hubs.) He'd had close brushes with death before but I'd managed to pull him through. This time, though, he was really and truly gone and I didn't resort to fruitless heroic measures. As I cradled his dead carcass in my arms, I cried, "Oh fuck! What am I going to do now?! I need a computer!" <br />
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This cry was repeated to my baby sis and a miracle happened. Several days later a box arrived on my porch. As I opened it, my jaw dropped and I sat in stunned horror. I had asked for her old laptop but instead she had sent me...a new one. The first virgin laptop I have ever owned. And it's beautiful! Sleek and slim, it's like wearing petite-size pants after shopping for years at Lane Bryant. And this morning when I had the urge to blog I was about to get up and head for the couch in the living room where my old laptop sat (constantly plugged in to the wall because the battery wouldn't hold a charge) and then I realized I COULD JUST LAY IN BED AND USE MY LAPTOP WITH NO CORD! A real portable laptop! I could even take it to the bathroom with me! I could take it places like Starbucks and be a hipster blogger with coffee! I could take it to Starbucks bathroom! My world is suddenly bursting with possibilities! Like using lots of caps and exclamation points! And it has all of it's keys! I have an "E" again! <br />
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And then I felt like a cheap slut. My old laptop had taken me through so much, how could I replace him so easily?! He gave me his all till he had nothing left to give. Meh. Easy come, easy go. I'll make sure he has a proper burial.Just Zenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03852070305659271000noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4199452407196063130.post-75946846285288761922012-04-01T09:40:00.000-06:002012-04-01T09:40:56.139-06:00A paradigm shift of epic proportions<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUmu1bx5gDTdQNT8DzpDC_m8W4DQU9ebrN8Vzus4bLEBbuMDVgTPbd0oJVdUWDiaY7CsRcOgB9banuCBdSX45XA7PHTGLia-3s_WqsqiH4-yGML0TsfwEMw6P0FJq3Ne_dft4gB1NfuYsr/s1600/conf1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUmu1bx5gDTdQNT8DzpDC_m8W4DQU9ebrN8Vzus4bLEBbuMDVgTPbd0oJVdUWDiaY7CsRcOgB9banuCBdSX45XA7PHTGLia-3s_WqsqiH4-yGML0TsfwEMw6P0FJq3Ne_dft4gB1NfuYsr/s1600/conf1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUmu1bx5gDTdQNT8DzpDC_m8W4DQU9ebrN8Vzus4bLEBbuMDVgTPbd0oJVdUWDiaY7CsRcOgB9banuCBdSX45XA7PHTGLia-3s_WqsqiH4-yGML0TsfwEMw6P0FJq3Ne_dft4gB1NfuYsr/s200/conf1.jpg" width="200" /></a>And it's time for the Annual General Conference in Utah. In other words, Mormons get to play hookey from church and shop on Sunday. But for those of us unlucky enough to live with devout Mormons, it means hearing those sing-voices drone on through session after session while we long for just a few shots of booze or possibly a good hit to help us cope with the tripe filling the airwaves. I realized yesterday as I tried not to listen, that my anger has only increased in intensity this time around. The arrogance of "only Mormons do good things" and the mental gynastics of "if you only have enough faith" make my brain hurt. Gazing at these faces just make me slightly nauseated now.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div> I've been drawing my inspiration more and more from people like this:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: left;">And as I read and warched clips from the recent Reason Rally, I loved the feel, the look and the sound. It was as if General Conference had been taken over by a rock concert. But with way cooler people and making much more sense. I may not be an atheist yet, but if I can learn to enjoy babies for breakfast, maybe there's hope.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div align="left"></div>Just Zenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03852070305659271000noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4199452407196063130.post-30744089706836577542012-03-30T20:32:00.000-06:002012-03-30T20:32:11.299-06:00Something to aspire to<div align="left" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5pGaFrJuSwUw0SRnw9KuuxoHvH2SDo9rrW_BkcG3RbTTKilVEa-GCv0YZDkgl46E_sdCC48dZrmTdvEXM9DsobX1Xt7cEobhyphenhyphen4J_oXoLy-ZjrDt3BDpQAn2bEAoj-siChdLm3kqjaGZNx/s1600/atheist+barbie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5pGaFrJuSwUw0SRnw9KuuxoHvH2SDo9rrW_BkcG3RbTTKilVEa-GCv0YZDkgl46E_sdCC48dZrmTdvEXM9DsobX1Xt7cEobhyphenhyphen4J_oXoLy-ZjrDt3BDpQAn2bEAoj-siChdLm3kqjaGZNx/s400/atheist+barbie.jpg" width="357" /></a></div>Hey! I could do worse!Just Zenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03852070305659271000noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4199452407196063130.post-80713860512329446392012-03-27T09:58:00.001-06:002012-03-27T09:59:52.338-06:00The boobs of hypocrisyI really thought I'd seen and heard it all when it came to hypocrites but this really floored me. I have a "friend" who:<br />
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hasn't worn garments in years<br />
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hasn't gone to church in even more years<br />
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drinks like a fish<br />
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will smoke anything that's free<br />
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sends a picture of her boobs (paid for by a former boyfriend) to random strangers<br />
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uses her ample boobage whenever and wherever it will benefit her <br />
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boasts of her excellent bj skills and has a couple of regular fuck buddies<br />
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has a potty mouth of epic proportions<br />
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and yet--<br />
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says she doesn't want to hang out with me because I'm anti-Mormon.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggNUkQ0wzA3iygm9xmvaYZ0L-tzVRhenES1RV6F8oH9bM44JHrWUdd1-LWvgkKASwDjPaQhfixZRPIG8-B3-htATKc7Y1U2rmKHojHhri-6V8-UKWYBCsbn4iqXmlet9sLwzqAGH7cZUxc/s1600/blurb_facepalm2_20090622.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggNUkQ0wzA3iygm9xmvaYZ0L-tzVRhenES1RV6F8oH9bM44JHrWUdd1-LWvgkKASwDjPaQhfixZRPIG8-B3-htATKc7Y1U2rmKHojHhri-6V8-UKWYBCsbn4iqXmlet9sLwzqAGH7cZUxc/s320/blurb_facepalm2_20090622.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Just Zenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03852070305659271000noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4199452407196063130.post-1790779248052067002012-03-25T13:40:00.001-06:002012-03-25T13:41:23.738-06:00Shite by Beck<em>“Female roles did not begin on earth, and they do not end here. A woman who treasures motherhood on earth will treasure motherhood in the world to come, and ‘where [her] treasure is, there will [her] heart be also’ (Matthew 6:21). By developing a mother heart, each girl and woman prepares for her divine, eternal mission of motherhood.”</em> <br />
-Julie B. Beck<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFw0rMP04C-DzHqmoV5666inoFEL1cZemKTIBfl1xTXtkHKkF8S1i3lx1T1KrHguayRK3oPtwpCQoJBLUBAApncEP7YcEYXvfyD9G9aElT2T-V-iicS1b_NMOT7e-rF-4Lq79wtQmlccii/s1600/mothers_day_funny+4.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFw0rMP04C-DzHqmoV5666inoFEL1cZemKTIBfl1xTXtkHKkF8S1i3lx1T1KrHguayRK3oPtwpCQoJBLUBAApncEP7YcEYXvfyD9G9aElT2T-V-iicS1b_NMOT7e-rF-4Lq79wtQmlccii/s320/mothers_day_funny+4.jpeg" width="217" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If you don't enjoy being a mother now, well, too bad! You're going to be one FOREVER! Bwahahahaha!</td></tr>
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<br />
My daughters listened to this type of thing last night at the general Young Women's meeting. (Did I get that right? I'm losing my mo-lingo.) Not this particular quote, which was made previously, but stuff just like it. It fills me with rage. My gorgeous daughters are talented and full of life, energy and dreams. I want them to reach for the stars and grasp them! But what chance do they have if they are not given a choice because rhetoric like this has been force fed them since infancy? Instead they'll become bitter, middle-aged women who have no skills or career beyond homemaking and baby-birthing. (Oh wait, that's me!)<br />
<br />
But seriously, is there a quote telling boys that fatherhood is their divine, eternal mission? Hell no! Men are encouraged to get an education and build careers. Make money and babies in this life so you can become gods in the next life with lots of wives to create lots more kids! <br />
<br />
Well, fuck that shite. I'm going to continue to help my girls stretch their limits and reach for the stars. You want to try out for that play? Go for it! I'll help you run lines and drive you around. You want to break up with that guy because he's getting too serious and you're not ready for that? I'll listen to you cry and whine all you need to, then make you pick yourself up and go on without him. You are more than just a uterus, fit for wiping up spit and changing diapers. If you want to do that later in life, go ahead! But first know yourself, explore your options and have some grand experiences. Simply live! <br />
<br />
Inthenameofcheeseandrice, ramen.Just Zenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03852070305659271000noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4199452407196063130.post-91551758596250190562012-03-17T14:04:00.001-06:002012-03-17T14:13:26.720-06:00Take two Fuckitol and call me in the morning<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiqdcYog-KBq4r4FYK0kHMy2ocBTFgTWINl0EiZs6qBLsUAQMzAylzgWrJq0zYNl-jc44NTyhe1QIsPH74UwemVdOibPgCV78svmFDfhJaDfLLEOWMajersTrvZYpv3sUZPaSLPMCxzsBQ/s1600/penguin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiqdcYog-KBq4r4FYK0kHMy2ocBTFgTWINl0EiZs6qBLsUAQMzAylzgWrJq0zYNl-jc44NTyhe1QIsPH74UwemVdOibPgCV78svmFDfhJaDfLLEOWMajersTrvZYpv3sUZPaSLPMCxzsBQ/s320/penguin.jpg" width="279" /></a></div>Have you ever had a week where someone knocks your brick mailbox into the street so you have to pick your mail up at the post office then you cut your lip and it won't stop bleeding and it looks like you cut yourself shaving but you have to go to work anyway and you're attacked by a rogue cabinet door and now you have a goose egg on your white, hairy, scaly leg and you have to show your boss and beg her not to file an accident report in case they have to take a picture and then the brakes go out on your car and you get turned down for a loan to fix them so you go around for days with brakes that sound like dementors being tortured by demonic seals and everyone stares as you stop at lights? Oh, wait. That was only three days, not a week. Where's the gin?Just Zenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03852070305659271000noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4199452407196063130.post-10846598429911091842012-03-08T14:07:00.002-07:002012-03-09T14:41:20.838-07:00Dark thoughts on a sunny dayA certain subject has been on my mind lately and on Monday there was a fantastic blog post about it-- <a href="http://mcwilleyfactor.com/2012/03/05/surviving-suicide-and-other-destructive-behaviors/" target="_blank">Surviving Suicide and Other Destructive Behaviors</a>. This author of this blog is doing his part to open up that long-hidden closet door and shine some light on the subject. I never would have guessed that this intelligent, kind, successful man has struggled so severely all these years. Please read the entire post. You won't regret it.<br />
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I've been trying to decide if I should open up as well so if you're reading this, I guess I did. My struggle started in high school. Just waking up in the morning became an obstacle course of epic proportions. I just didn't feel strong enough to deal with any part of life. Sleep became my refuge and I missed at least one day of school per week because I just gave in and stayed in bed. The emotional pain was intense and constant. I just wanted it to stop. I prayed each night to simply not wake up in the morning. But morning always came and I had to plod through another day. My school commute involved ten miles of wild, curving dirt road filled with cliff walls and drop offs. Every time I drove it, I would imagine the freedom I would feel if I accelerated and drove off one of those cliffs to sail through the air and land at the bottom. I knew that then the pain would stop and I would feel peace at last. The only thing that kept me from doing it was the fear that the drop wasn't far enough and I would survive.<br />
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At one point, I decided that taking a handful of Tylenol might stop the agony. Maybe it was the only thing I could find in the medicine cabinet, I'm not sure, but it's what I settled on. I popped them one night, but alas, I awoke the next morning. Other than some dizziness the next few days, I suffered no ill effects. I managed to squeak though high school with decent grades and get into college but I've always wondered what I really could have accomplished if I hadn't been constantly fighting to just survive. I never shared this with my friends or my parents. I mean, it was obvious that no one else seemed to have these thoughts so no one would understand and they might think less of me. It was my private struggle. But how many others around me were going through the same thing? The odds are good that at least a few were. But we suffered alone.<br />
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The dark, suffocating pain still pops up now and then. It's been settling into my bones this winter and I've had the same thoughts. Life is too hard and I am too weak. The fact that I have lived through some very tough things in my life means nothing to the pain that whispers to me.<em> </em>I am weak. I will crumble. The only way to make the pain stop is to end it.<br />
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But this time I'm opening all the windows of my mind and letting the dark out and the sunlight in. Here is my pain, what I live with each day, but I am not alone. Let's share our struggles instead of enduring them in isolation. And let's make it safe for others to share. Share your story.Just Zenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03852070305659271000noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4199452407196063130.post-39889921625206679602012-03-06T09:03:00.000-07:002012-03-06T09:03:28.760-07:00At least Facebook doesn't have literal arrows<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilmGjrB6J3Ym2lJLMl4vLQqGGHmnmItWvwSWvERa3UpaeVSMnMpQsi4f8km9S9qOOQZQqPHRToNm5A8gSrO-drpLl86bvWg9cQ03rENHq1U7Zh55l14T8fcIu4abN5Am_tNGxib0GFWazB/s1600/facebook+wall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilmGjrB6J3Ym2lJLMl4vLQqGGHmnmItWvwSWvERa3UpaeVSMnMpQsi4f8km9S9qOOQZQqPHRToNm5A8gSrO-drpLl86bvWg9cQ03rENHq1U7Zh55l14T8fcIu4abN5Am_tNGxib0GFWazB/s320/facebook+wall.jpg" width="228" /></a></div>Just Zenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03852070305659271000noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4199452407196063130.post-87475950538965086472012-02-28T09:12:00.000-07:002012-02-28T09:12:24.256-07:00Dead drunkMy daughter got her first lead in a play and she's over the moon. It's a one-act play about teenage drinking. Yes, that's the subject. When she first got the part she was a little dubious of her ability to act inebriated.<br />
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"Mom, I've never even SEEN a drunk person except those homeless people downtown! I've got to research on how to look drunk!"<br />
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Since there's a book for everything she found an acting book that explained the process of not only acting drunk, but also stoned, drugged and other various impairments. She explained to me exactly how long it took for one beer to last in the body and how fast to drink. She researches the hell out of everything she does. I sat there sipping my evening gin and Fresca as she educated me on booze. The irony was a little unsettling but amusing too.<br />
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I've been running lines with her as she memorizes her part and it's been rough. Hokey dialogue and just plain bad writing dominate. But even worse is that every person in the play ends up somehow injured or just plain dead! One guy becomes a rapist and a girl is raped. Another girl drives drunk and kills her best friend. No one escapes the grip of the Demon Alcohol. Because just one sip will doom you to a life of suffering, pain and death! Bwahahahahahaha!!!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9jC9H37b505O4tXQlN9PRfO0Fb7PwKJbC7pKsxg-Z1-8IHnWr2XP2qPJSEjtqQG-XHTjBShtUJfZ83fkjG3JNBaQwqpF-l-ddA9toT50R-aSrWBWPa6WT93serSfJzVcG6jD5jmbeqFSt/s1600/drunk+dog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9jC9H37b505O4tXQlN9PRfO0Fb7PwKJbC7pKsxg-Z1-8IHnWr2XP2qPJSEjtqQG-XHTjBShtUJfZ83fkjG3JNBaQwqpF-l-ddA9toT50R-aSrWBWPa6WT93serSfJzVcG6jD5jmbeqFSt/s1600/drunk+dog.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I've never looked like this. Promise.</td></tr>
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*sigh* Now, I'm not in favor of teenage drinking but there has to be a more balanced way of portraying booze. Yes, there are alcoholics and impaired driving of ANY type is never okay. But alcohol is enjoyed in moderation by millions of people. Including me, her mother. Somehow I need to teach her that but I'm still very afraid of what her reaction would be if she found out. She's been indoctrinated thoroughly, at church and at school. It's the conundrum of the day.Just Zenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03852070305659271000noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4199452407196063130.post-46606164823884100962012-02-23T15:12:00.000-07:002012-02-23T15:12:13.944-07:00Vertically enhanced for your viewing pleasureDon't you just love it when you are going about your life, doin' your thang, and out of the blue someone has to remind you that you're an abnormal freak? *sigh* As if just trying to exist in this vertical stunted world isn't hard enough, rude people have to constantly remind you of your strangeness<br />
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I just found this hilarious video that is soooo my life! You short-ass people probably won't find it nearly as funny but it's only a minute so give it a watch.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/pNMllBdAppc?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br />
Now I really want someone to call me a "fine-ass tree princess"! Any volunteers?Just Zenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03852070305659271000noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4199452407196063130.post-25963949485828506402012-02-18T12:07:00.000-07:002012-02-18T12:07:17.273-07:00Good golly, Sister MollyMolly, the naive Mormon woman with a penchant for cream-filled doughnuts and all things that vibrate has <a href="http://latterdaymainstreet.com/2012/02/16/congratulations-2011-brodie-winners/" target="_blank">won me an award</a>! Well, tied me an award. I tied with the great Emily Pearson and I couldn't be happier. (Okay, if I'd beaten her into the dust I would have been eating-a-cream-filled-doughnut happy. But I'm still happy.) I'm also shocked and awed. It pays off to have five friends with lots of computers to vote from.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>I had my acceptance speech all written and found the cutest denim jumper at DI. I was even going to be daring and wear leggings with it so I could <a href="http://www.abc4.com/content/news/top_stories/story/Note-about-BYU-dress-code-causes-controversy/gUNCKSbVrECbEBYZkmhV6w.cspx" target="_blank">outrage all those BYU guys</a>. And then I find out there's no ceremony or anything! All that denim, wasted. Emily and I could have walked up the red carpet hand-in-hand and accepted the award together. She could have worn that <a href="http://www.dancingwithcrazy.com/" target="_blank">adorable straight jacket she models on the cover of her book.</a> (She would have had to wear heels though and I'd wear my flats because I'm pretty sure she's short.) But instead, all I get is this: <br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTjUvYpWU6_NM0StnbNOhXYkaVLWcIMqwokSCn4MhFpPGL4Y0iX7wMnDHBgbCKF2IzDRDJrHIUBATApk8dxICKdYuROX34vInr0JjSpSfT1nOZWezEr8xLfg_K4ef3oqphFfEaTAdSiun5/s1600/2011-Brodies-Black.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="64" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTjUvYpWU6_NM0StnbNOhXYkaVLWcIMqwokSCn4MhFpPGL4Y0iX7wMnDHBgbCKF2IzDRDJrHIUBATApk8dxICKdYuROX34vInr0JjSpSfT1nOZWezEr8xLfg_K4ef3oqphFfEaTAdSiun5/s320/2011-Brodies-Black.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">She looks like my mom. Seriously.</td></tr>
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I've put the denim back in the closet for another special occasion and I will wear the badge with pride on my blog. I am a winner! And I'll even buy Emily a drink sometime.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">As for what happens to Molly, I picture her finally discovering that what she's really been doing all along is masterbation and she embraces it, creating a line of adorable vibrators that were so well disguised they became as ubiquitous in Mormon homes as the framed "Proclamation to the Family". She leaves Martin, the odious husband, and finds herself a young boy-toy who fulfills her every fantasy. (You know, doughnuts and chocolate and lots of sex.) </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Thank you, Molly, and all my readers. I am so blessed! *sniff*</div>Just Zenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03852070305659271000noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4199452407196063130.post-32467360393581647152012-02-16T10:54:00.001-07:002012-02-16T10:55:22.435-07:00Ways to warp your childMe: You know what a muffin top is? Well, I got a whole bakery coming out of my pants!<br />
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Her: Mom, I did NOT need that visual!<br />
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Maybe she would have preferred this one.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWIAQ5xK2SRzIea_K79DL99jrPE9Jgqor1n3aYtXQhSQfFIB4HHC1glcqggYAAlkbyt-gdL4EGDr_hRBjcHlQTMZgYpY6fNbnJXQ4U2Lk2WC7bR0r0ncs1wHlPgDLd7JOwvlwBdWxLhP6G/s1600/fat+naked+cat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWIAQ5xK2SRzIea_K79DL99jrPE9Jgqor1n3aYtXQhSQfFIB4HHC1glcqggYAAlkbyt-gdL4EGDr_hRBjcHlQTMZgYpY6fNbnJXQ4U2Lk2WC7bR0r0ncs1wHlPgDLd7JOwvlwBdWxLhP6G/s320/fat+naked+cat.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>Just Zenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03852070305659271000noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4199452407196063130.post-21024789003674469062012-02-09T11:28:00.002-07:002012-02-09T13:37:37.842-07:00We interrupt the regularly scheduled posting...I had my next blog post all written up in my brain and was going to put it down when I got home from work. Unfortunately, I looked at Facebook first and now I can't even remember what the hell I was going to write about because of what I saw. Talk about holy shit on the wall.<br />
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The big news this week has been about the repeal of Prop. 8. It's fanfuckingtastic news and I've been doing a little happy dance since I heard. But since I've stopped attending church and have surrounded myself with thinking, informed people, I'd forgotten how much insanity and misinformation is still out there. Well, I was reminded big time.<br />
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I have a young friend (he's on the far side of his twenties but he's young to me) who posted his take on the repeal of Prop 8. He's a member of the church but disagrees with the church's involvement and gently stated his opinion that everyone should have the right to marry. This is a kind, caring and non-judgmental man. But boy, does he have some self-righteous, bigoted and blind assholes for friends. With his permission I'm sharing some of the shit. The first comment to his post was this doozy:<br />
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<span class="commentBody" data-jsid="text"><strong><em>I never question or judge the church and our General Authorities on any matter or decision they have made. I believe and have a testimony of our leaders and I will stand by their decisions because they are decisions from our Father in Heaven whom has a far greater understanding than I do of things pertaining to this earth. I also don't know why black men couldn't hold the priesthood for so long but there was a reason at the time. I will stand by our prophets decision always. I can't see them changing their stance on this issue ever. A big part of the decision is that we come here to multiply and replenish the earth and that can only be done between a man and a woman. There are so many arguments here but in the end it comes down to the one and only answer that I've repeated over and over here...if the decision comes from our leaders then it comes from God...and who wants to argue with the All Knowing!? *FYI- I don't mean to offend anyone and hope that I can post my opinion and not offend anyone!</em></strong></span><br />
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The ignorance, it burns! Because nothing is more ignorant than completely blind obedience. "Who wants to argue, who wants to think? I'm just gonna do what they tell me while I pump out babies!"<br />
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The next comment was no better. And I copied and pasted it so all misspellings and typos are<strike> the asshole's</strike> not mine.<br />
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<span class="commentBody" data-jsid="text"><strong><em>The reason why the church is perusing this so heavily is that if it becomes a civil rights issue, then a same-sex couple could sue to be able to get married in a LDS temple, because they think its a pretty building. Then the temples start closing down in states where same-sex marriage is legal and the work stops. Also, another thing that is central to the plan of happiness is eternal marriage and bringing kids here to earth. You need a man and a women to accomplish that. And the church isn’t saying hurtful things about people with same sex attraction… That’s stuff that has been assumed by the ignorant and words that have been stuffed in their mouths. Read what the apostles have said and what the official statements from the church have said. There’s no hate. Only love.</em></strong></span><br />
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Oh, where to begin with that one? Even the most casual research shoots down the whole "suing to get married in the pretty temple" crap. And the church doesn't say hurtful things about same-sex attraction?! This guy must have been raised with his head up his ass. Read a church book, dude! Listen to a conference talk with your ears actually open. Hate said lovingly is still hate and it is spewed with abandon in doctrine and attitude. <br />
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Half a dozen times I typed out a comment and each time I deleted it. I'm not good at arguing, whether face-to-face or online. I'm reduced to a stuttering, muttering idiot that can't string three coherent words together and it's not pretty. Only one person responded with any logic and sanity. I have no idea who he is but I love him already. He was the lone voice of reason but was labeled a "faggot" and pelted with hate by the others. I "liked" each of his comments in silent support as I watched this fuckery unfold. And soon I realized my tiny contribution was noticed when a friend request from this man popped up on my screen. So in spite of being a chicken of the first degree I have an awesome new friend! The best kind of friend--the kind that thinks for himself.Just Zenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03852070305659271000noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4199452407196063130.post-77432510821136973632012-02-03T14:54:00.000-07:002012-02-03T14:54:09.706-07:00I'm a brazen and shameless hussy<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSiZHzLoE9I00aXVVGJ8Ex6MtSQXcKUn4TDHGPwWzRxPf7486bn9UO7doLezVBlihqhsXzHUfPdZUNuCV2YawBr9RQOmxieqIQ0K8v2jJoVQ-2ZKOgxSQAX0QRw3S6DHVmUObMuu7KO8aa/s1600/begging.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSiZHzLoE9I00aXVVGJ8Ex6MtSQXcKUn4TDHGPwWzRxPf7486bn9UO7doLezVBlihqhsXzHUfPdZUNuCV2YawBr9RQOmxieqIQ0K8v2jJoVQ-2ZKOgxSQAX0QRw3S6DHVmUObMuu7KO8aa/s320/begging.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here's an adorable begging dog to tug at your heart.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>So...I mentioned that I've been nominated for a Brodie. Well, <a href="http://latterdaymainstreet.com/2012/02/01/2011-brodies-vote-here/">the voting has started</a> over at Main Street Plaza and since this is the biggest thing that's happened to me since I gave birth to a 10 lb baby ( and that was DECADES ago), I'm going to openly and shamelessly beg for you to go and vote! I'm up against some stiff competition and I can use all the help I can get. So take a few minutes and wander over there. I promise it will be less painful than birthing a giant baby. And while you're at it, you should read some of the stuff that's been nominated in other catagories. Some good shit there. It'll make you think and that's good for the brain cells.<br />
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When you hit the link you'll have to scroll waaaaay down to the "Best Erotic or Sexual Piece". It's almost to the bottom so don't get discouraged and give up before you get down to it! Then just click on "Molly's Saga" and you will have done your good deed for the day and made a sad and pathetic middle-aged woman happy.<br />
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Was that shameless and pathetic enough?Just Zenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03852070305659271000noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4199452407196063130.post-91173206263684775522012-01-31T09:54:00.000-07:002012-01-31T09:54:01.075-07:00Things I can't say to my kids<div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: left;">I walk on very tenuous ground with my TBM children. There's a large part of my life that I can't share with them becaue it would disturb our fragile detente. Even uttering a "hell" or "damn" is enough to bring a distinct chill to our relationship for an hour or two. I worry that because I don't share the small things of my life with them, they might not share theirs with me. It's just another wall the church has helped build between my own children and me.</div></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnQw7UhC-mBRWC0sVMXrKRhBdvlmnZJkgcR3AniUEArTnHigCo9oRDIB6Rrj_PHitNgRMitWHdLm5uoGmLWkc25yNG2b0uZYqlh8tCbdV56EsXdWOgQGtqo61IrSzehCTyW87AVl4jt8qv/s1600/mouth-taped-shut.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="190" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnQw7UhC-mBRWC0sVMXrKRhBdvlmnZJkgcR3AniUEArTnHigCo9oRDIB6Rrj_PHitNgRMitWHdLm5uoGmLWkc25yNG2b0uZYqlh8tCbdV56EsXdWOgQGtqo61IrSzehCTyW87AVl4jt8qv/s320/mouth-taped-shut.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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Just once I'd love to be able to say these things:<br />
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"I had the best time with my friends last night at the huka bar!"<br />
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"I just need to make a quick stop at the liquor store on the way home."<br />
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"It's a good thing I'm not paying tithing or I wouldn't be able to afford to buy that for you."<br />
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"Mommy just got nominated for a <a href="http://latterdaymainstreet.com/2012/01/26/last-call-for-2011-brodies-nominations/">Brodie for Best Erotic or Sexual Piece</a>!"Just Zenahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03852070305659271000noreply@blogger.com1