Tag Archives: Catholic

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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Moving In, Moving On

Well hello there, people! I’m back! I’ve done another of my disappearing acts, and its again due to a lot of stuff that’s been going on. I’m trying to consider whether I should end this blog, continue, or start a new one, where I won’t be anonymous, and the focus might have changed.

Not that it won’t be full of Catholic ranting. Of course, that remains a constant.

So, what’s with the long absence? Well, I’ve quit my job at the call center. It was either that, or I’d get fired for being nothing more than a temp worker. Plus, I had no ambition to become a permanent member of a business devoted to scamming the ignorant out of money, while claiming to help them.

Anyway, bitterness about that stupid low  paying job aside, other things have been going on. The wedding is no longer going to be held in Mexico. It was excruciatingly difficult to hear the lawyer let us know our options and to realize that going to Mexico would be a bad idea. Yeah, my fiance is illegal. Go bitch about it on YouTube or something because I don’t freaking care.

Because of that we’ve had to re-plan the entire wedding, and our budget, and everything. On the one hand, its great, because a certain maid of awesomeness won’t have to blow her money on a trip to Mexico, and I get some more control over decorations. On the other hand, its heart breaking. Mr. Serrano misses his mother, grandfather, and siblings so much, and he’s losing hope that he’ll ever see them again. I cried for days, feeling guilty that in an indirect manner, it is my fault he’s not with them now. He doesn’t blame me, and I don’t blame myself anymore, but its not fair that his mother can’t see her oldest son married. I’ll find a way to make it up to her- she seems to be an awesome woman from what I can see in the photographs.

However, the wedding is now bumped up to September, which has me excited!!!! In an unprecedented show of generosity my parents are allowing the party to take place on the farm, so I’m going to have a wedding that looks like it came out of Real Simple. We had had to break the news to them about Mr. Serrano’s status, and they took it well. In fact, they had assumed he was illegal anyways.

Thanks, Mom. Glad to know you really did mean all your racist comments in the past months before we said anything.

But, count your blessings, right?

For a while, it actually seemed like my family was going to act like a family. I was cautiously surprised and happy, but I’m always cautious when it comes to them. Just like I feared, the initial glow wore off, and life went back to “normal”. Then, Mr. Serrano finally got his own apartment!

The previous tenants were something else. Let’s just say I can’t stand white trash, especially anyone who buys enough cigs and booze to keep them stocked forever, but can’t be bothered to clothe, feed, and love their kids. My family has screwed up royally, but at least they weren’t alcoholics. Thank God. The trash people finally moved out, after dragging their heels for months, making excuses, and finally actually trying to squat in the apartment. They DID have another place they could stay- this one was just “better”.

We were insanely happy to get that apartment. Mr. Serrano’s stepmother is pretty much straight out of Hansel and Gretel, and probably invented frenemies. I savored the look on her face when she saw me cleaning in the kitchen window (they’re our next door neighbors…so charming). I was especially happy in a triumphant way (probably not the best moral way either) because the charming old hag had tried to pawn the apartment off onto someone else, just to make sure she could keep her stepson paying her bills and on her couch, rather than a real bed.

This was right around the time we went to visit the lawyer, and since I got us so lost down in Chicago area that he had to pay 30.00 in toll fees (not kidding) I figured I’d stay the week over at his house and clean it up while he went to work. I needed a project to keep my mind off the stress, and re-doing a house sounded like fun.

That is where the trouble started. It didn’t matter how much I told my parents I was waiting till marriage to move in with him, and it didn’t matter that the stuff I had in my room I had saved for him, which is why it was being moved out. Every day that I came home, I was asked when I was moving out. The verbal abuse got worse, and my ever-charming ever-honest brother fell back into his habit of calling me a bitch. Mom literally ignored my existance, which I guess is better than her usual screaming (although screaming did occasionally happen).

Without even intending to, without wanting to, I ended up living in Mr. Serrano’s apartment. The first few weeks I was amazed. I woke up, and no one was going to scream at me. Nobody was yelling at me, glaring at me, or calling me names. In fact, I got a peck on the cheek and a “good morning, I love you”. Its taking a while to get rid of some of my bad habits- like skipping breakfast. I can’t eat at home. If I eat at home, I’m “stealing” from whoever Mom is favoring at the moment, which means I eat out or not at all. It took me a few days to leave my bedroom with confidence- inside I still expected to be criticized for something.

I started to feel something I haven’t felt in a long time- freedom and happiness.

I can listen to Catholic Radio, pray, listen to music, cook, go take a walk, eat, drink, be happy!!

But… at the back of my mind I kept getting nudged. This was beautiful, and wonderful…but I had said nothing to my priest. In fact, I avoided the subject entirely. I didn’t want to lie. I didn’t want to tell the truth. Then my friends started nudging me. The universe was nudging me.

In short, God was like “okay, you’ve had your fun. Now trust me and go talk to my priest!!!”

So I did, even though its instinct now for me to not trust authority (lol, and I end up Catholic. wtf) I went and talked with him. I had this whole prepared speech in my head which of course fell apart as soon as I tried to speak (complete with crying, which I hate doing in front of men. They are wayyyyy too vulnerable to it). He thought at first it was financial.

HA! Nope, actually the money saved is a bit less, since starting an apartment is expensive.

Its humiliating. Its absolutely embarrassing to explain to someone that your mother is abusive, your father doesn’t really care, and that your brother has been trained to join in. Its worse when you have to do it to someone you consider an authority, because you’ve been trained your entire life to believe that no one in authority thinks you are worth anything, and everyone believes you’re a liar. The irony is that you believe that if anyone does believe you, they’ll think that you’re less of a person for what you lived through- that you’ll be just like the people who raised you.

I didn’t even have to explain everything like I had thought I would have to. Father did ask about my dad, and his role, and whether my dad is abused himself. (I guess, in a way, he is. Mom *does* bully him a lot.) In all honesty, the actual talk was very short, and I didn’t have to come up with a litany to explain what goes on in my house. I think, perhaps, Father knew, at least a little bit. It makes me wonder how many people have known that I’ve never told. It did “help” that I’d already moved out, but I was prepared to move back in again with my “family” if the priest said otherwise.

I can’t believe it. God must have been behind this, because when I finally could move out, I tried not to. I wanted to do what He wanted me to do, or what I thought He wanted me to do…and I still ended up moved out.

Thank God. I’m never coming back. I’m free.

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March For Life: Best of, and some advice!

I’ll look up the link later, and link it here, but last year I was blessed and privileged to be able to go to Washington DC for the March for Life. For those who don’t know, March for Life is a memorial and a protest against Roe Vs Wade (by the by, guess who’s pro-life now?) and it is the LARGEST INVISIBLE PROTEST  DC ever sees.

Oh, and apparently with that new NDAA bill, now us pro-lifers are definitely terrorists. I say bring it on. Every time good Christians are persecuted, 10 new ones convert because of that one persecuted Christian. Suck it, Mr. Flea-bag.

Anyways, March for Life:

It was AMAZING. So here are 10 quick things I loved about the March for Life.

  1. 450,000 people and not a riot in sight. Or a news center.
  2.  The Orthodox Rabbis had the coolest Hebrew signs.
  3. We OWNED  the subway.
  4. Not only did we own the subway, we were singing. I especially joined in on “Don’t stop believing”.
  5. I-hop has never seen so many customers. Or so many Catholics. The manager was terrified one night and the next was extremely happy. I swear I saw dollar signs dancing in his eyes.
  6. Speaking of which, its a big, giant, happy Catholic reunion from all over the US and the world.
  7. I met Archbishop Dolan. I didn’t know it was him until I saw his blog. He blessed my Holy Cards. In IHOP. He also told me I talk too much. ^_^
  8. The Basilica Mass. Packed like sardines, smelling anywhere from good to very very very bad, it was a piece of heaven.
  9. Rosaries, balloons, chants, joy- everywhere.
  10. Silent No More. They were awesome.

However, there were some unfortunate circumstances. Luckily, Notre Dame showed some good humor.When “Pro-Choice” “Catholics” and other “Christians” showed up, and thought they could pray the Rosary (what, suddenly Our Lady and Our Lord and Savior are controllable by prayers, and therefore they’ll go back on that whole “thou shall not kill” thing?)  the ND group did some amazing things.

  1. Nothing like emphasizing that Jesus was Jesus in the WOMB of Mary. Its an old term for uterus, oh smart ones.
  2. Nothing like taking the ND banner and sticking it over the “protesters” of us protesters. They get coverage in the media 364 days of the year, and are treated like heroes (warped, I know). They can shut up, and stop pretending to speak for the rest of us for one measly day.

Some advice I have for people heading to DC for the March:

  1. Do NOT give homeless people money. Give food, clothing, whatever, but do NOT give out money. 99% of the time you are NOT helping by giving money.
  2. Speaking of money, things are expensive, especially food. Even BK.
  3. Be prepared to walk. And walk. And walk.
  4. If visiting memorials, keep in mind Lincoln looks A LOT closer than you would think. That wind will get you.
  5. Stay in groups of 3-5, but you don’t need to stay with the same group 24/7. My orginal group was horrible.
  6. Join in the chants. Its fun!
  7. GO TO THE MASS. SERIOUSLY. It is life changing. But get there 3-4 hours before or you will have no room to sit, stand, or breathe.
  8. Speaking of the Basilica, if you can take a  tour through there. If anything will convince you of the universality of the Catholic faith, this place will. It is MASSIVE.
  9. Talk to the nuns.
  10. Talk to the priests. The religious are awesome!

Also, 1 interesting experience.

As I was in the Shrine of the Immaculate Conception, one man was leading his (Calvinist) students, and mockingly stated that “Catholics actually worship the wafers in that box” or something similar. I kid you not I was sure I heard God say “go and genuflect, right now. Right there.” …I did. Not sure what I could read into the faces of the prof and his students, but God must have been working something.

Also, one last bit of advice.

PRAY.

Especially to Saint Michael, Our Lady of Guadalupe, and St. Gianna. Don’t be afraid to show your adoration for the Blessed Sacrament!

 

 

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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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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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My Golden Wedding Band…

Well, actually that has yet to come! However, Mr. Serrano finally formally proposed to me, ring and all, after months of pestering. I will remember his proposal forever…especially as it had 3 stages:

  1. Propose over Skype while I’m in Japan. I think he’s joking (we’d only been going out a few months). He pretty much blocked it from his memory, but when I realized that it was not a joke, and stopped laughing, all I could think was  “Yes”.
  2. While relaxing at one of the Mexican festivals in our area, in the ambiance of music, food, laughter, and the beer tent, he casually looked at me and asked if I would like a party like that for my wedding. My jaw dropped, time stood still, I grinned, and the answer was “Yes” again.
  3. Finally, after months going on years of pestering about a formal proposal, because I’m itching to show that its official, and after planning our announcement to my parents, we go and buy the ring. I pick out 3 rings I like, and he secretly picks the one he likes among them all. Then, at the classiest establishment known to Earth, Texas Roadhouse, he proposed. Formally. The song “On the Road Again” was playing, and peanuts littered the floor.I could not ask for a better formal proposal. I laughed and joked, saying…”Nahhhhh”, and eventually “caved”. The entire 3 steps of Proposal were awesome.

I have to say, Mr. Serrano picked out the ring I liked best (he has good taste, and what’s more he saw my eyes go round when I saw it). It also didn’t cost too much. Its simple, elegant, and made of silver and diamonds (I’m a silver kind of gal). What I like most about it is the symbolism I can read into it.

The ring twists in a figure eight, the number of infinity, eternity, and the Virgin Mary. Its also my personal good luck number. 3 diamonds symbolize the Holy Trinity- Father, Son, Holy Spirit- all encircled in one loop. 3 more tiny diamonds on one side and 3 tiny diamonds on the other join the Trinity stones to make the number 7- completeness and holiness. And then you have all the other awesome symbols of the ring that are more traditional!

We’ve been planning on how to tell my parents for months, and we’ve finally decided on next weekend. I honestly don’t know how it is going to go. My family seem to like him, and don’t seem too racist, but one of my worries is that they’ll accept him- because now he’s getting rid of the useless daughter for them. I’d hate for that to be the reason, but I guess its better than trying to actively destroy our relationship.

Time will tell. Hopefully all goes well. And, true to my Catholic revert self, I’ve got to go see about getting this doohicky blessed! Not only that, but now I get to search for a wedding band for Mr. Serrano…that is going to be fun. He, apparently, is a gold man, so we aren’t going to match. OH NO! So far our marriage is breaking every one of society’s stupid rules, which puts me in a great mood. ^_^

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