Category Archives: Random

Babies. ALL THE BABIES!

This one might come as a shock to some of you who know me. I mean, I’m all pro-life, sick of contraception and its stupid culture, and ranting about unleashing my Catholic mini-minions upon the world as I laugh in the face of Planned Barrenhood. (Oh yeah, I just cliched that sentence to alarming levels. Kewl.)

However, in spite of all that, I’ve been a little terrified of actually having babies. No, not the physical act. That’s scary, but my body was made to do that. Biology is yucky, and that’s why I’m not a scientist. (that and my infernal arch nemesis, aka mathematics).

Nope, what I’m terrified of is having a baby, like RIGHT on the wedding night, BOOM I’m preggers. This could be because of the messages I’m getting from friends, family (the same ones that said I should “let loose” or rather, have lots of “protected” sex) and the culture around me. Here’s a few things that have been bouncing in my head for years, and have been repeated to me as soon as I mention I’m getting married.

  1. BABIES WILL RUIN YOUR MARRIAGE OMG 1!1!!!1!!!
  2. Don’t have babies in the first two years, spend the time “getting to know each other”.
  3. Wait to have kids, or you’re an idiot.
  4. Don’t have kids at all, they’ll ruin your bank and relationship.
  5. If you are constantly getting pregnant, no employer will hire you.
  6. Children are too expensive omg!!!
  7. Wait until you’re financially secure, with a good job, possibly tenure at some place, and when the stars align in the third ring of Jupiter’s uncle’s mother’s sister’s great auntie, then you can have kids.

So, in desperation, I turned to prayer. I say desperation, because I’m a stubborn individualist. I think sometimes God is amused, but other times he just sits and sighs. After a while, God got some reason through to me and helped me figure out a few things.

  1. Its not kids that ruined your marriage, its you and your husband/wife. Kids don’t ask to be conceived, they don’t choose their parents, and they cannot possibly handle all of your adult problems. Simply put, quit projecting your marital problems on *me* and your own kids!
  2. “Getting to know each other” is just your way of saying “use birth control”. I can think of no better way to quickly know your spouse than pregnancy, and no better way to deny your spouse than using some messed up hormonal pill or a condom that apparently doesn’t feel so good. Holy crap, I just want to have some natural sex. Can’t you supposedly “organic” snooty people let me have some wholesome, natural, organic, sex?
  3. Kids don’t cost so much if you wouldn’t buy designer clothes they’ll never appreciate or want. At this point, you’re spoiling yourself on vanity.
  4. If an employer will discriminate against you for being a pregnant woman, your employer is a pig. A sexist one. That employer will probably also try to get you to choose some company that will lay you off quicker than you can say “unfair labor practices” over your family.
  5. There is no right time to have a kid, in our own time. However, in God’s time, the time to have a kid is always perfect. 

I kid you not, I’m not nearly so nervous about the idea as I was before. Getting pregnant soon into my marriage will be difficult, but pregnancy is difficult. And I’m not kidding about the raw sex. The more I learn about condoms and birth control, the more I really don’t like them. If I’m going to sit here and insist on real glass for my drinks, and avoid teflon, and try to buy local with my fruits and veggies and what-not, why the HELL would I take a birth control pill and screw up my hormones? As far as I know, I don’t need it medically, so why should I think about using something my body doesn’t freaking need? And it doesn’t take a non-virgin to know that condoms are not as comfortable as they should be.

And hell, it all sounds so unsexy. Seriously, how would it heighten the moment to pause, roll on a condom, grab some extra lube since Señorita V can’t keep up against plastic dryness, and FINALLY have sex? And then you have to worry about breakage, or slippage, or if one of you might have a previously undiagnosed latex issue (I knew a guy with it once. Quite hilarious, as he was the campus creeper as well. Guess how he found out? LOLZZZ) or any of all that.

Contrast that to kissing, touching, saying whatever the hell it is couples say to eachother, hopefully good foreplay, and then just going forth and multiplying?

Now I just gotta work on my repsonses to people when they tell me all the BS about The Pill and Condoms.

Hey, if they want to give me unsolicited awkward as shit advice, I’ll be happy to give them a session of TMI. I suspect I’ll get extra points after I get married, because then I can let them know EXACTLY how I feel.

Muahahahhaahahahaha. This is going to be like that stupid prof who wanted to know why I had had to leave class for 5 minutes, and explaining “the bathroom” just wasn’t enough for her. Let’s just say Profe never asked about my bodily functions again.

 

 

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Books, Dating, Sex- Let’s Get Our Nerdy On

Okay, per some comments written below by R.A. Salvatore, I’ve gone through and edited this thing. I meant to make it shorter, and failed. So have fun. Oh, and did all 3 of you know that I rant on this blog? I know, right? I didn’t know either.

P.S. Sister Allie, if you were the real person who left that comment, know that revenge comes in the form of photoshop, a man’s speedo, and a certain arch-bishop dancing to “My God is An Awesome God”.
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Now there’s a title to attract some people. Especially people who write things like “Mexican Perv” into the search engines and then find my little blog. Is that some sort of whacked out fetish straight from rule 34?

Even though I’m not a huge fan of Simcha Fischer’s blog over at NCR,  I still read it from time to time. Some of her stuff is pretty good. I won’t link to it here since I’m not in favor of being a traffic vacuum, but the post I read was “Dangerous Books For Teenage Girls”.

There was a comment down below the piece, in which it was implied that “you can’t judge whether a book is good or bad unless you’ve read it” which is better known as “you can’t judge a book by its cover”.

Maybe because us humans, especially American humans, are just now finally dragging ourselves out of the “let’s judge everybody by nonsensical bullshit like wealth and how many baby trees died to make my car” we have catapulted all the way over to the other, open-minded side. By open-minded I mean we’ve completely lost our minds, and now pretty much anyone can crap out a “novel” and call it good. And we still judge by wealth. Don’t believe me? Guess what one of the reasons for keeping abortion legalized is… I’m sure it has nothing at all to do with getting rid of poor people.

It seems like “open mind, insert crap” has taken hold in dating as well. I’m 24, a virgin, pretty damn proud of it, and am getting married to a beautiful man- who was also my first kiss. I have never been with anyone else, and I didn’t date in high school.

shhhhh….did you hear that? That was the sound of a thousand feminazi heads exploding….

“Open Mind” sickens me. One thing I’ve learned about books and men is that sometimes you really should judge a book by its cover. If its got some sort of rebel looking girl pretty much dressed up in a hipster’s leather fetish outfit (Girl With A Dragon Tatoo) I know I’m probably not going to like it- even if the writing is good. I’m probably going to read a lot of things that conflict with my faith, and quite frankly everything conflicts with faith once you leave the sanctuary of the Mass.

It’s okay to judge a book by its cover! How men (or women) dress themselves says a lot about who they are, and who they see themselves as. Chances are the 30 year old in cargo pants, an over-sized T-shirt, his hat hung backwards and his slang from somewhere out of an 80’s blaxploitation flim is, 999 times out of 1000, a loser. Chances are that guy in highschool who looks so hot but hangs a Confederate flag in his truck is less interested in history than he is in being a jackass. Chances are that girl who doesn’t wear underwear under her skirt that’s short enough and thin enough to see through actually is looking for nothing good. (Yeah, I know, shock right? Because women can’t possibly be just as horny as men!)

But then, there are some books, and some dates, that open your mind to things that you never thought of before. Girl With A Dragon Tatoo might put some things into light for me that I’d never have considered otherwise. Reading the Quran ended up teaching me that I love the rhythm of Arabic poetry and composition, even if I’m pretty sure Mohammed was definitely not talking to anything remotely God-like. Having an unrequited crush on an Atheist taught me that emotional love conquers good reason, and that it really is a better idea to find someone who shares your beliefs.

Then there are books and boys that seem fun at the time, but are realized to be a big waste of effort later on. Facebook, for example. A better example of this in my personal life is R.A. Salvatore’s Drizzt series. I was obsessed with this series. I spent what little money I had on it. I watched for the release of every new title, scoured the libraries, viewed pages and pages and pages of horrific fan “art” and “literature”. I bemoaned the craptastic “art” that took my lovely Mary Sue (Drizzt, and I liked him as a Mary Sue) from a young, dark elf with lots of muscles and oozing teenage hawtness with his pretty purple eyes and spat him out as some old white human with wrinkles and what might possibly have been mange. I don’t even like the series anymore, and I still feel an urge to set things on fire with my mind when I see those covers.

Was I entertained by these books? Oh definitely. They even got me through some rough times, as I could connect with the outcast with a penchant for self-pity, but of course, was totally awesome secretly. Like, you have no idea how awesome. Like, yeah. So cool.  But were these books good for me? Did they nourish my soul? Get me to contemplate God and the transcendent?

I’m going to go with a no. For one thing the books seem to be extremely anti-Catholic (if not anti-organized religion), absolutely misogynist, anti-authoritarian, History Channel blunt about it. Sure, transcendence gets talked about…except the gods and goddesses are as banal as the Greek gods and goddesses. Drizzt got me through some very rough times, but would I have fared better reading Chesterton, C.S. Lewis, Tolkien? Perhaps instead of listening to a lot of wine and cheese, and watching one beloved character foist his supposedly “unselfish” sacrifice unto another, I could have learned about the more realistic mutual self-giving of Arwen and Aragorn.

For the 3 or 5 (?) of you reading this lonely little blog who’ve never read the Forgotton Realms series, what basically happens is that Cattie-brie and Drizzt have a years and years long “it’s complicated” relationship. Drizzt can basically live for something like 1000 years or whatever, while poor human Cattie-brie can live maybe a hundred (although not likely, living among a world full of evil characters that would kill for a chance to make Drizzt cry). So instead of realizing that Cattie-brie has a choice in the matter, and that she can probably assess her ability to handle such a situation (perhaps her addled female mind can’t handle the stress) Drizzt does the manly thing and “sacrifices” himself. Or rather, being scared of his own insecurities and inability to control the future, yet still not trusting anyone beyond himself, he drags out the “complicated” status of the relationship for years. Its like college, only it takes a decade and a half or more.

Or, just like college.

I could have read City of God or Beowulf or Dante’s Inferno or The Dog Died At Midnight or Father Amorth’s book on posession and demons.  I could have at least been spared when the books lost their soul and became a heap of pages that equated Orcs with black people (really? The orcs get to be Black??) and settlers with the fair (and edging ever so closer to delightsome) people of Ten-Towns. There’s even a racist/species-ist group called the…*eye roll* C.C.C. I’m sure that wasn’t a reference at all to a real life consonant loving, genocidal group of idiots who are running out of slogans as fast as they are genes. Oh, and Drizzt goes from loveable, whiny Mary Sue to David Carusso.

White, Wrinkly, And Nothing Like Drizzt. Its Like The Artist Decided To Write.

Instead of reading actual literature that would have challenged my thoughts and beliefs, I ingested junk-food for the soul that confused me spiritually, and warped my view of the world. And exposed me to David Carusso. THE HORROR!

Sadly, the misogyny of the books stunk like that bog in the Labyrinth. The series begins with a female dominated society of dark elves. Bar none, they’re all pretty much horrific little harpies running around controlling the hapless males. Malice (the most subtly named character since Maleficent) is the mother of Drizzt (and his Aunt, too, and wow that was awkward when that dawned on me) who just about kills off cute baby Drizzt because he’s boy number three. She, and his sisters, are all perfectly evil, except one random female who later on kills his father, technically his sexually abused Uncle. (This hit me worse than when I figured out that Luke and Leia were twins and I couldn’t get that kissing scene out of my head. WTF LUCAS???).

Possibly due to the gender defined, hierarchical, matriarchal society, with lots of rules that make no sense (at least it doesn’t get called the “Magisterium” like Pulman did with his books, because I guess then it wouldn’t be so “subtle”) the one good sister who didn’t beat Drizzt as much when he was a little kid goes through with the human sacrifice of her brother’s (and possibly her) father. Not that this is at all similar to some sort of Christ figure, being sacrificed by a horrible oppressive society that includes lots of priests priestesses, nor is it at all similar to that tired, beaten, old straw man who cries out that Catholics are re-sacrificing Christ.

Then, on the other hand of the misogyny person…figure…thing… you have the Perfect Women. Alustriel is all pretty, all wise, and pretty much just echos Drizzt alot. Mielikki is Drizzt’s personal goddess, apparently made from thoughts, impressions, and ideals just like dragons but she’s so damn perfect there’s no real contact with her other than as a unicorn, since avatars are “too accessible” to be real. Because, you know, a personal God who came down as a man is too disgusting to fathom. Oddly enough, that sounds like an ancient Roman rant… Anyway, the one “good” woman who has a character in the books is Cattie-brie. Even she’s pretty incorruptible though, other than when she gets possessed by a crystal shard.

Then she pretty much amps up the creepy by just about raping poor Drizzt, but of course its not her, its the pretty shiny thing controlling her mind making her go all seckshy. If this sounds like a diamond commercial to you, I’ll have you know that it didn’t last forever. The pretty shiny thing, after all, was just a sword.

When Cattie-brie and Drizzt FINALLY go from “It’s complicated” to “in a relationship” and finally to “married”-she dies. After waiting until she’s pretty darn past the years when bearing a child would be a heck of a lot easier (try 20? 23? 25? 28? NO, we have to wait until 30 or above!!)  the annoying couple finally tie the knot, having earned their master’s degrees in drama. But then, poor female Catti-brie has to catch a plague and die. And then she gets stuck in another plane of existence, along with annoying little Regis (do not get me started), as a reward to Drizzt for his years of fairly blatant agnosticism service to Mielikki.

So now in this Forgotten Realms universe we girl nerds are left with pure evil pretty girl,  flat echo-y pretty girl, and absolutely gorgeous good girl who doesn’t even exist in a real body for models. Wrap it up with a few totally obvious subtle digs at the Church (The Weeping Friars, which if you read the books sounds like every lead-up to an oft repeated half-truth about indulgences or even the complete crap about a female pope) and you have a wonderful cocktail of things that maybe shouldn’t be ingested indiscriminately by a teenage young lady.

I ended my relationship with that particular book series like it was a mildly-retarded man-boy, and I had just woke up at the theater wondering “wait, I wasted how many of my years with you?”. It looked like a great idea at the time, and it brought some comfort through some difficult years. However, it was junk food for my soul. Instead of forcing me out of myself, it lead me down the selfish, depressing road of agnosticism. My agnosticism could have ended a lot quicker if someone had dropped by and perhaps handed me Orthodoxy by Chesterton, or Screwtape by C.S. Lewis.

 

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Filed under Mawidge, Mr. Serrano and other fun stuff, Random

Mormon Undies, Laundry, And Impotence (not of the physical kind)

Mormon underwear.

Mysterious. Fuglier than a “woman priest’s” vestments. Supposedly won’t melt or catch fire or cause some serious athlete’s crotch. It induces a mixture of laughter, pity, and bewilderment. When God saw what Joseph Smith did thar, there was a mighty clap in the air, a huge sigh, and suddenly a new word entered the tender young American lexicon: facepalm.

Secret, or sacred? Does it matter? Its intensely private, but people will still feel you up to see if you’re a worthy Mormon gal or guy. No really. This poor little fish eating Catholic got the Mormon feel up the last time she went to a Mormon service…corporate meeting…thing…whatever- and that was the last time she ever felt the compulsion to enter another one of those whitewashed boring places of banality.

Did I say banality? Oh, yes, I most certainly did. Cotton Candy has more intellectual honesty and better nutrition to boot.

But the underwear…the hideous, uncomfortable underwear. Its intensely private, if only because its the only way to avoid the question: “Wait. You wear underwear under your underwear…and it is sacred/secret?” Of course, because its kept so loudly secret us horrible oppressors can do nothing but think of Mormon underwear, dream of Mormon underwear, scheme of unsexy Star Trek garment Mormon Underwear.

Actually, no. Mormon underwear doesn’t often cross my mind. If you’d like to wear magical Mormon Underwear, well, okay, have fun with that. You won’t see me stealing that…thing…in the middle of the night.

However, Mormon Underwear does cross my mind when its right there. You see, there are many hazards for a Mormon trying to maintain the sanctity/secrecy of their Mormon Undies from the rest of the family during laundry time. Especially when one member of the family is a mildly self-educated Catholic, who thinks both recent Popes are amazing in their own ways, and can’t shut up about the new Mass translation. (FINALLY!)

I don’t know if my Mother still has sex with my so-not-Mormon Father (and, for the love of all that is sanitary and holy, I’d rather not know) but I do wonder how that plays out. Do Mormons allow for a dispensation for the shedding of ye olde holy drawers for a session of love-making, and do they even use the word dispensation? If not, when the moment is right and things are hot and heavy, does the lady take a swan dive to the nearest closet so that she can reveal her body (apparently not as valued as the underwear) and satisfy her desires? These are answers I’d rather not know, other than in the most general sense. At the moment I’m picturing chipmonks and bunnies so as to maintain my sanity.

Mormon Underwear might get a break for non-Mormon husbands, but judging from the subtle (read: terrified) reactions of my Mother, it does not get a break for hell bound Papists like moi. Why do I say that?

Remember when I mentioned that actually, I have better things to think about than some hideous fashion disaster with the word “holy” slapped over it? Well, it just so happens that doing laundry can get dicey for a Mormon.

The first occasion was completely confusing. All I did was take Mormon Mother’s laundry upstairs. Sure, I saw that the undies glowed and smelled of lavender and traces of ass, but I have been well trained to take up the laundry and deliver it unto the woman who gave me birth.

Well, the reaction, rather than a “Oh thank you, dear” (words you’ll never hear come from that mouth) was a hasty snatching of the Holy of Holeys and a muttered, “You didn’t have to do that!”

Thank you for allowing me another reason to be lazy. ^_^ Sure, why not?

Well, its only gotten worse. Because the worst thing about Mormon Undies (in my Catholic opinion) is that you can’t admit you have Mormon Undies, even to request that you keep your non-believing heathen hands off of them. After all, these aren’t scapulars. Scapulars you just don’t mention because you don’t want to seem like a vain little braggart about your own personal holiness, but if someone asks you explain what its about. And Scapulars can get gross, too, so you might be wondering more what in the world possessed you to touch that thing since its covered in sweat dried from years of use. Rather than a shameful thing, its more a “ewww…germs…” thing going on there.

Mormon Undies are NOT scapulars, and besides, you can get quite a lot of unintended pleasure out of them. For example, since its clearly stupid to wait around for Mormon Mother to get her clothes out of the drier (since everyone knows that will take half a century or longer) its clearly smart to remove the obstruction and shove your own clothes in. I’m not going to sit around waiting for the corn to grow just to be respectful towards a pair of fugly-wear. I have things to do, and not a lot of clean clothes left.

Of course, the practical solution is also the more hilarious one. Nothing is funnier than watching a Mormon Mother freak out as she approaches the laundry room, eying you with suspicion, glaring at your heathen hands and eyes as she sees her sacred underwear five feet away from where her worthy Mormon hands have left it. She left that pair under the care of Moroni, or Brigham Young, or some less holy personage- you know, like Jesus Son of God or something.

And now, it is obvious that her heathen Catholic daughter’s hands have spoiled the virginity of the fashion crime. Should she yell? Scream? Spew out verbal abuse as is her usual custom? No, she cannot. A good Mormon, like a boxer in Fight Club, never mentions The Secret. And so she says nothing, becomes nervous, perhaps waiting for Joseph Smith to come down and write another 19th century livejournal post completely legit new testament of Christ and…stuff just for one such as her.

Quickly! A veil must be drawn! Throw the T-Shirt over the holey holy, tuck it in neatly, and storm away in nervous, impotent indignation. Get it away from the non-converted. Mention not a word of the sacred secret. Let it not be questioned, handled, or tried! Save it from marauding heathen hands in as dramatic a way as possible. March forward, head held high, like a reality drama queen, and don’t breathe a sigh of relief until out of sight of prying, curious eyes.

Mormon Underwear doesn’t cross my mind often; I prefer not to think about it. But sometimes, things happen, and I cannot help but wonder………

………….Seriously?

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Filed under Mormonism, Random, Religion

A Job And Announcement

Well, let me start off by saying that trolling Google for images is kind of risky, even if Web of Trust supposedly has your back. I lost my draft of this post…

Any-flipping-who…. I have a new job. Its awesome. Mainly because I get paid, get to wear office clothing, and it doesn’t involve being stuck in a factory with sweaty old men who try to find ways to touch my boobs. No really- true story. Temp guys can be g-r-o-s-s…

Since my hours are weird, I’ve been having trouble sleeping. However, I am getting paid, and that makes me happeh, to borrow a phrase.

I also have something to announce! I announce that Mr. Serrano and I announced our marriage (future) to the parents (aka Los Classy). How did it go? Sit down, child of God, and I shall tell you the tale! With pictures!

Well, in the morning we go to Mass. Unfortunately its in Saint Happy Clappy’s parish, so Trinity Sunday is all about the Creator, Redeemer, Spirit, and how Trinity Sunday has NOTHING TO DO WITH THEOLOGY. At the word “Creator” used in place of Father, I suddenly lost all appetite for interpreting for my dear fiance. Normally I do some simultaneous interpretation during English Mass for Mr. Serrano- good for practice and good for the soul. This time? Not so much.

So, after the Mass, we go home, garden a bit, take showers (separately, you pervs) and go to my grandfather’s Father’s day party.

It was like this, only with a Mexican.

Ignoring racist comments from one of the uncles who leaves classy messages all over my facebook and certainly never trolls leaving behind racist comments, we have an actually sort of pleasant party and eventually head home.

Having invited my parents out to dinner at a nice restaurant, we dressed nicely and checked to make sure we could pay for their orders. I also splashed us with Holy Water, figuring it couldn’t hurt. The dinner went well, other than my mother. The first few seconds of this video are 100% my crazy as heck mother, the rest is a montage of my life with them in restaurants.

She was pissed because her diet coke wasn’t on the table 2 seconds after we got our food at the buffet. She also yelled at a random waiter, who had no clue who the heck we were. Lets just say I kissed my favorite tea goodbye. Thanks, MOM. (The people know me there and I always leave a nice tip. So, I generally get the really good jasmine tea. Adios, dear tea…)

Eventually, we got around to actually saying something. Mr. Serrano had eaten a grand total of 1 plate, because he was ready to crap his pants he was so freaked out. I wasn’t freaked out until we had to say something- and we had to say it on the fly because Los Classy was moving out.

So…it went like this. “I would like to ask your daughter’s hand in marriage”

............

………….And we’re getting married in MEXICO.

Actually, they couldn't even get that out...

So? Besides the looks of shock, what were their reactions? Well, my internet friends, that is how we come by the new name “Los Classy”.

In bullet point, here were their reactions:

  • You do know our daughter has $tudent debt, right?
  • I appreciate you asking for this…
  • We weren’t expecting this right now…(its early)
  • We will talk about the financial $ituation.
  • Let’s talk about the financial $$$$ituation.
  • Are you pregnant?
  • How are you going to live in Mexico, do you have any money?
  • Money.
  • $$$$$$.
  • Dinero.
  • Great for you…I guess.
  • Happy Father’s day to me, eh?/sarcasm
  • This could just take her off our hands…

Isn’t that sweet? Isn’t that classy? Doesn’t that just speak volumes about where my parents stand on marriage? Noticeably absent was any real sense of joy. No congratulations, no welcome to the family, nothing. Oh, Los Classy did look at my ring (which they were surprised we had already picked out) and I could immediately tell my mother was trying to figure out how much it cost. NICE.

Don’t get me wrong- this went 4billion times better than I thought it would be. Mr. Serrano and I ended the night laughing and watching a movie at the theater.

However, I was still incredibly, incredibly, incredibly disappointed and sad. My parents think the only reason people get married is because there’s been an “oops” baby- not because two loving people plan out a life together. Perhaps their talk of money is grounded in caring about what happens to us…but the way in which it was brought up made me feel like a cow, and a dishonest cow at that.

My parents are not proud of me. I could be a Saint, and they would still find me less than the family dog. I’ve known that for a long time, but it still hurts when it gets waved in my face. Its so glaringly obvious that they don’t know me- seriously, anyone stumbling across this blog probably knows me better than my own parents. If they knew me, they’d know how strong my faith and love are, and how I never hide anything from Mr. Serrano.

Things were okay for a few days after the announcement. I thought that I was finally safe to gush. I thought that I could hope, and dream, and make plans. I thought my mother was serious when she said that I could live in the house until marriage in order to save money- for about 1o seconds she acted like a real mom. Probably while I was thinking of saving my chastity by avoiding living together before marriage, she was only thinking of avoiding a pregnancy.

Like the one she had with me. The one where I supposedly came and ruined her so much better before me life.

But just like normal, she started screaming at me the other day. Screeching, like a demon. Accusing me of every disgusting thing she could think of. Emotionally manipulating me, guilting me, making me feel like an ant because I am happy and she isn’t. She’s far too good at sabotaging happiness to let something like that into her, or anyone else’s life. I had to let her know that I would not discuss anything with her until I had Mr. Serrano’s permission, and that if she screamed, yelled, or in any way made either of us feel uncomfortable, the end result would be us leaving the room or the house. We are not going to fight, argue, or act like children- we will just remove ourselves from the situation. She took back a gift she gave me, forcing me to pay for it with the last of the quarters, dimes, and small bills that I had left over from saving for the wedding. Yes, in my house this is “normal”.

I do not want to accept any more “gifts” from her again, even if I need them. Her gifts always come with something attached. I can live without them. I’d prefer to live without them. I want to tell her that I will no longer accept gifts from anyone in the family, but that would provoke her.

As for my father, he’s the usual ball-less wonder. Now that he gets what he wants from his wife, and with the Mormon carrot held out in front of him, he’s even more useless than before. You can bet money that he is going to be on “her side”, and is still not going to realize that by him choosing sides, he is only allowing the family to disintegrate more. He’ll probably try to “talk” on the weekend, in which he’ll once more drone on and on in his lecture about how I can’t “stir things up”, “rock the boat”, or “fight” against my mother. Every excuse will be afforded to her, from her (absolutely) horrific childhood, to her diabetes, to her being fat, to her having mental problems. Every effort will be made to downplay what is ultimately emotional abuse.

The end result of it all is that I’m done. I’m finished. I give up.

Today, I loaded up some books that I no longer read (re: 3 boxes full of them) and carried them out. Mother asked with a bit of astonishment, a slight how dare you, and some hope, if I was moving out.

“Nope.” I said. Not yet…

I might have to get a dispensation after I move in with Mr. Serrano. I don’t want to do it. I think living together before marriage is a sin, if not a close occasion of it. I worry about how well we can keep chaste together when we’ll see each other every morning, and every night for nearly 2 years.

I’m not moving in with my fiance because I think it will make our marriage stronger, or because I believe in a “trial marriage” (WHICH I DON’T), or because I’m in love with my fiance. It isn’t for fun, enjoyment, or because I would love to wake up every morning and go to bed every night under the same roof as the man that I love.

I’m moving in with Mr. Serrano as soon as possible, because my home life here is so crazy that I am not safe. I can’t sleep, eat, use the bathroom, clean clothing, or do anything in this house because I am always scared of being screamed at. Its beyond stressful, and it affects me spiritually.

I can’t pray as well; I swear a lot; I’m deeply angry to the point of rage. I’m depressed; my chest is constantly heavy, I plan my day around who I have to avoid. My quality of work suffers due to stress, I find myself wishing and wishing that I had a real mother. I try to think of the Virgin Mary as my mother. I try not to think of my father. I don’t pay attention to my appearance, I eat very little (and not very well) and I lock myself in my room when I’m not working or on a date. There’s not even much time for dates now, due to work. I constantly check to see who’s home when I return, and I breathe a sigh of relief if for once the mother isn’t around. I shout for joy (literally) when nobody is around, because then I’m free to cook myself dinner, eat, and take a shower without feeling threatened.

When I finally find the energy to go to Adoration, I can’t pray. I try, but all I can do is embarrass myself by crying in front of old Polish church ladies. I don’t know if they see it or not, but I do know that one of the kneelers was left wet. I’m a quiet crier though.

What’s worse- living in a near occasion of sin or allowing myself to be abused? I can leave the room, but I’ll be followed. I’ll be hounded by one or the other of them, and I know the wide range of manipulation that they will use to get me to bend to their will. They blame my guilt and paranoia on the Church. In reality, it was a priest (or many) who sat me down and told me that I was a “beloved daughter of God” and that I need to accept forgiveness, and accept that God doesn’t blame me- only loves me. There’s right, and wrong, but God forgives when you ask. It was a revelation to find out that I am loved no matter what I do, and there are no buts with God.

Whenever I’m in despair now, I try to meditate on the Divine Mercy. I try to love my parents. Can you love without feeling it? Perhaps that is what I’m going to have to learn to do.

However, I need to get out. The good thing is, besides God and the Saints, I’ve got wonderful friends and a fiance who all love me here on Earth. In spite of it all, Mr. Serrano and I actually have a healthy relationship. It takes a lot of work, but its worth it.

As soon as possible, I’m leaving. I just want it on record that I’m not leaving to live with Mr. Serrano like most people of my generation would do it- for frivolous reasons. I’m doing it because I don’t believe there’s another option. Stay here and suffer? Allow my abuse? Part of me says to go for it- become a saint through suffering. The other part of me says that I should do what I can to remain whole- and the family is taking me piece by piece. How can I be a proper wife and mother if I’m emotionally crippled by the time that I marry? How can I plan a wedding when the mention of it will send her into a rage?

Its time to be free. I can’t wait to move in, in some ways. There are three bedrooms in the house, so one will be mine, one will be his, and one can be a combination library/prayer room. I will also be able to put some cookbooks to use (finally!) and will be teaching Mr. Serrano his RCIA book (we had to stop meetings, because of issues with schedules of work).

Things are going to get better.

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Catholic Culture Of The Month: The Middle East

You’d think people would have figured out by now that there are Christians in the Middle East. What’s more, they’re often Maronite Catholics, and if they are not Catholic they’re more like the Orthodox than anything else.

Yet somehow, Christians are completely ignored in the area of the world in which Our Savior lived, died, and rose again. Perhaps its because their lack of Protestantism makes people turn a blind eye. Perhaps its because unlike the Muslim terrorists, they aren’t as inclined to blow things up. Normal people living their lives aren’t really newsworthy. Perhaps its because they’re dirt-poor, and NPR doesn’t quite yet feel like admitting that they’ve got a serious bias issue in their reporting.

I have a lot of respect for Middle Eastern Catholics (and that includes all Christians in the Middle East). They are being martyred literally. They aren’t just losing jobs, or having to reconsider careers, or being sued for publicly believing in Christ. They are being murdered, raped, and marginalized because of their faith, and they will not give up their faith.

So, this post is for the Middle Eastern Catholics, Orthodox, Chaldeans, whatever. Let’s go visual, shall we?

Welcome to Lebanon!

 

“The followers of St. Maron, both monks and laity, were always faithful to the teaching of the Pope. The Maronite Church is the only one among the Eastern Churches that has always maintained its bonds with Rome and the Successor of St. Peter. In fact, in 517, as controversy continued to rage over the decisions of the Council of Chalcedon (451) regarding Christ as “true God and true Man,” persecution of the Maronites broke out which resulted in the martyrdom of 350 Maronite monks on account of their defense of the Council’s decrees. Because of this, the Maronites were also known as the “Chalcedonians.” Even today, on the feast of Saints Peter and Paul, our liturgy prays: “O Lord, preserve your children from all error or deviation, grant us to live and die proclaiming: ‘Our faith is the faith of Peter, the faith of Peter is our faith!’” Taken from a Maronite Catholic site.

Arabic: Not just for the Muslims, mmk people?

 Hey, lets go to Jerusalem!

There’s these people called the Syriac Catholics… Go learn about them!

This is an amazing photo I found through Google

This is incredibly sad, but the Christians in Iraq and Pakistan have had more than a rough time. This is due to a mixture of religion, politics, and plain old evil. Please read this blog where it is mentioned that there are very many good Muslims who are trying to teach and live the good, true, and beautiful.  Its heartbreaking how even in communities where people have lived in peace, there are so many outside influences that can hurt people. I remember hearing about a little boy, the only survivor of his family, following the terrorist gang as he stepped over the bodies of his relatives, crying and asking, “Why? This is shameful!” Eventually he annoyed them enough that they killed him too. He was 3.

As always, please pray for these people. God knows how much they have suffered. And while I’m on my Catholic Culture post, I’ll also mention another place you can find Arabic and Middle Eastern Catholics and other Christians- MICHIGAN! ^_^

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A (quick) Rant

I’m so sorry that I haven’t been able to continue my Mormnism and Racism rant lately!!! I will get back to it ASAP, especially since Seth left a wealth of things to use as a sound board. Seriously dude, that was a novel.

What have I been up to lately? Well, I’ve been freaking out because I’m poor. Yeah, for those of you out in other countries besides the US, this country is one of the few where poor have access to the internet. To hell with things like food though! I’ve been poor for a while, well actually my entire life (no, this isn’t just a case of not being able to buy my favorite clothes…its a case of almost literally walking around barefoot. In November. In Michigan. Check out our average temps.)

And then I’ve been freaking out that because I’m poor, some things have not gotten paid. Like school stuff. Which means I can’t schedule classes, which means that if I don’t schedule I don’t graduate. And then I’m struggling in classes due to a few things.

  1. My arch-nemesis, Ms. Hatsumomo/Peggy Hill has once again risen from the dead to be a bitch and do her best to ruin me.
  2. My other arch-nemesis, ADHD, has become even more annoying this semester due to stress caused by my poverty, my arch-nemesis, and in general the crappy college I go to…
  3. OMG I have not had this much due at one time in my life, EVER.
  4. As usual, my family is crazy.

Thank God Mr. Serrano is here to support me. I’d be going crazy without him. *starts humming Ozzy’s Crazy Train song*

So, while I would love to delve into the intricacies and psychology of the racism that is inherent in Mormonism, I can’t do it without failing to give good quality writing. Or at least as good quality as it will get with me.

Cross your fingers and hope that next Wednesday will be better!

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A teaser: Meaning of Racism

This week is going to be CRAZY  for me, even crazier than last week, so it might not be till next Wednesday that I get time to blog. Yeesh I’m so sick of exams, essays, projects, you name it. On a good note, deer hunting season just started, and my Dad got to have the heart of the deer one of our friends caught. Poor deer- it turned out to be a mercy killing because he had gotten stuck in a fence, and would have died there (many painful days later) if our friend hadn’t have come across him.

(Not that I’m trying to apologize for hunters- they ROCK!) Mr. Serrano is out hunting right now, so hopefully he’ll have some luck. Its a beautiful day for it, if a bit chilly.

Anywho, I’m going to be busy, but I can tell you what the next post is going to be about- The Meaning of Racism. We had better define it as good as we can, then we can get around to the theological stuff.

Have to say, people are making me proud. For the most part, no nasty comments devolving into personal attacks. Just be careful! I reserve the right to either delete your post (if you swear more than I do…you’re done) but I also reserve the right to allow your post. And possibly make fun of it mercilessly, if its humorous enough.

Seriously, I’ve seen some comments on other blogs that are too funny to let die. So be warned if you make a derp sort of comment. Remember nothing dies on the internet!

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