Tag Archives: marriage

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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The Interview: Father Caffeinator

No, there isn’t (to my knowledge) anyone I know named Father Caffeinator. That’s just my name for the wonderful priest who did I and Mr.Serrano’s interview. If you met him, you would understand. He’s old. But his energy is WOW. Maybe incense really is Catholic crack or something, or so says Sister Allie.

However, I’d like to write  a quick letter (that hopefully I will be able to say) to Father Caffeinator.

Dear Father Caffeinator,

Thank you so much for being understanding and not judging us (while still being truly Catholic the whole way through) and for having the grace to realize we were scared of this interview. You shared a bit about your personal life, and it really helped. THANK YOU.

However, I need to clarify something. I don’t believe I was very clear about a particular question. I was afraid you’d get this idea that I’m a saint, or that I think I’m a saint. I’m not. I swear, I’m lazy, rebellious at times, and its not unheard of for me to miss Mass. Because I’m lazy. And sleepy. And the bed is realllllyyyy comfortable. Yes, that isn’t an excuse.

However, when you asked if I was a practicing Catholic, here is what I wanted to say: Father, I have a shrine in my room. Almost half the shrine is images of Mary. I do know exactly what happened at Fatima, and it scares the crap out of me reading the prophecy because I don’t think we’re done yet. I also have basically turned my cubicle at work into a shrine. I have so many medals I’m going to start giving them away. I have 4 rosaries, and struggle praying the rosary due to a) laziness, and b) ADHD. I have holy water on my mini shrine. However, there are two hanging on my rear view mirror and I’m not sure if that is okay with the Church but they are a huge comfort to me when driving. Especially since my area is crawling with demons. Yes, I just said demons. Demons are just fallen angels with a big, stupid, idiotic bone to pick with God and also happen to want to drag me down to Hell. Speaking of which, I LOVE the Saint Michael prayer after Mass. WE NEED IT BADLY. I watch EWTN all the time, or at least when the creepy children’s programs from other countries don’t come on. (Its the dubbing. The dubbing and interpretation needs to get better and less creepy.) When I get super worried, I start praying parts of the Divine Mercy prayer. I read NCR (National Catholic Register) and I get the urge to burn almost every copy of NCR (National Catholic Reporter) that I see. I have actually considered burning some books (even though I’m rather against censorship in most cases) especially the “Catholic Girl’s Guide To Sex”. Please don’t read it. Its depressing, sick, and does a great job of degrading women and teenagers into nothing more than sex toys with the ability to sometimes think. I go to Adoration a lot more than the average 20 something, I’ve written a letter to Mother Angelica (concerning LOL cats, of all things), and I’m obsessed with collecting theology books. If I could, I’d get a degree in theology. I actually take the Pope seriously, and I love both JPII and Papa Bene. I’ve actually read their stuff. And I wasn’t forced to. I go to Mass at your parish because for once I actually feel like I’m in a real Catholic church building, and because this is a very Catholic community. Not to mention I haven’t seen much (if any) of the following: holding hands during the Our Father, pointing and laughing at women in veils, guitars, liturgical craziness, girls with “shorts” I’m sure I saw sold at WalMart as underwear, gay pride buttons, etc. I also haven’t heard: adlibbing the Mass to the point where I have to sit down and think really hard about what the difference is between invalid and illicit, clapping, and anything even smelling of condescension. I’m also struggling with the difference between irreverence and funny. I feel really bad about not giving a lot during Mass, and I really really really want to do something to help out- I just don’t know where I fit in. Did I mention the veils? I like them. I’d like to wear them more often. And when I have daughters, I’d love for them to have the option of wearing them. Speaking of daughters, Mr. Serrano and I don’t want to use contraception. We’d love to learn about NFP though, especially since it’d be nice to know what all those dumb SEX IS AWESOME/LEARNING ABOUT YOUR BODY IS A PROLIFE LIE avoided telling me about my own body that I supposedly have so much control over. I went to March for Life last year, and I spent almost the entire time in the Shrine, pretty much getting high off of Jesus, Mary, the Saints, and all of the beautiful habits EVERYWHERE. I am a revert, so I’m rough on the edges. Catholic etiquette is something I fail at consistently. I have to go to Confession every week because that’s about how often I fall into mortal sin, and even if I weren’t, I’d still be going because mortal sin is remarkably easy to fall into. By the way, its embarrassing to have to admit the same, freaking, annoying mortal sin EVERY WEEK, but I’m doing it. I’m also going to Mass, and even when I was mired in mortal sin and afraid to go to Confession I STILL went to Mass. Except for when I was lazy.  And yes, I’ve definitely confessed that. I have no idea what a practicing Catholic is, for me, personally. Do you mean someone who isn’t creating Epic Catholic Fails all over the place or someone who is giving it her best shot? Hopefully you mean the second option. All I can tell you is that, yes, I’m “practicing” in the sense that I’m trying as hard as I can some days and failing entirely on others, but overall I’m as much in love with my faith as I am Mr. Serrano. I’m obsessed with all things Catholic, and the Church is the one place I’ve been able to call home.

 

Yeah…Lol now hopefully I don’t get some “progressive” (what an oxymoron there) Catholic who decides to take this little letter and run with it, claiming that I must be close to tolerant or something. Either that or a “see? Practicing Catholics are obsolete”. I think not. If I’m not a practicing Catholic yet I’ll just spend the rest of my life attempting to be one.

Booyah.

Also, it was really fun asking the question about whether or not Mr. Serrano and I are able to have babies. “You don’t know until you try!”. rofls…I think Fr. Caffeintaor just about died….

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Filed under Catholic, Mawidge, Mr. Serrano and other fun stuff, Religion

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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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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Filed under Mawidge, Mormonism, Mr. Serrano, Random, Religion

Top Ten Reasons

Along with talking about all the wonderful things Mr. Serrano want to do for our wedding, including rings, dresses, booze, parties, priests, marriage classes, and the awesome benefits of mating without event a hint of birth control pills or penis-constricting condoms, we’ve come to the discussion of where we want to live after Mexico.

One thing Mr. Serrano is sure of now, is that there is no way we’re coming back to Small Town USA, or Stusa for short.

Why?

  1. The Police. Ever wanted to know what its like to have an unofficial curfew of 10 o’clock, because that’s when all the police in town decide you shouldn’t be allowed to leave the house? Ever wanted to be stalked, with the brights on, for daring to do that? Ever wanted to be pulled over multiple times for no reason- except that your boyfriend looks a little brown and “suspicious”? Do you like being glared at constantly, and having racist jokes thrown your way? Welcome to Stusa, Michigan.

    Never know what people'll do for Taco Bell! Nyuh nyuh nyuh...Oh, I'm sorry, is that racist, Seenyor?

  2. We’re Catholic. That means between the 1st 1st 1st no really 1st Baptist church, the Christian Reformed, The Bible Believers (since they’re the only ones who believe in the Bible, duh!) and the Jehovah’s Witnesses, we’re never going to have a Saturday morning to ourselves. Our kids will also be ostracized and peer pressured to give up their faith. It happened to me, and things don’t change.
  3. We’re Catholic, and we’re mixed race. So the one Catholic Church in town is probably not going to allow us into their clique. Also, that means the Jehovah’s Witnesses will really fear us, which will make them want us. When knocking repeatedly on our door fails, they’ll put up signs close to our yard, like this one:

    I know someone who has three of these pointed into her yard. Cheery, right?

  4. Things don’t change. That dumb old cliché about how everyone returns to their old hometown and loves that its just like it ever was is just that- dumb. Because things don’t change in my town, mullets are still mildly acceptable, the nineties have just managed to hit, FRIENDS gets quoted at highschool graduations, and remarking that N****rs should be strung up from the football goal posts in public is only a mild (if that) scandal. In Stusa, highschool never ends, and the parents join in on all the little power-plays their kids engage in, because deep down they know that highschool really is as good as its going to get for them.
  5. I am still a nerd. It doesn’t matter that I’ve been to Japan, that I can speak 4 billion languages, and that I can cure AIDS with my golden tears, and that I’ve graduated from college. In fact, that will probably make me an “intellectual” which is simultaneously the biggest word and worst insult that can be hurled right here in Stusa. Case in point: there actually was a garage band that got out of Stusa, and made it big in Europe. The response from some old guy? “I don’t care what them damn Europeans think, they’re still worth nothin’ here in Stusa. They were worth nothin’ in highschool and they’re worth nothin’ now.”If I think I had it bad here in Stusa, think of my future Catholic, mixed race, intelligent future children. Not only will they have that, everyone knows who the mommy is, and all the other backbiting Stusa mommies know that they can use their kids to be mean to my kids. Yes, that really does go on.
  6. Commuting: Sweet niblits, its 4.00 and more for gasoline due to whatever excuse the oil companies can dream up. It takes at least 45 minutes of driving to get anywhere with jobs, and then since its Michigan you have to deal either with 30 gazillion inches of snow, or fat construction workers. Add to that the fact that Michigan drivers are C-R-A-Z-Y and you have a happy little murder fantasy waiting to happen.
  7. Your white trash neighbors are going to steal/vandalize something from your yard. Got gas cans hidden in your barn, for when you need to mow the lawn? Have a tacky lawn ornament? Got a mailbox that is tasteful and decorative? Got white trash neighbors? Time to get a big furry creature with lots of teeth, called a dog.
  8. Your upper-middle class neighbors are going to annoy the crap out of you. They don’t know how to burn leaves so that the field, the woods, and their house doesn’t go with them. They go running, and become terrified the second they see your dog, who’s about as threatening as a kitten. Then they try to sue you, because your dog was “threatening” them by laying out in the sun. They also try to sue the pig farm nearby, because they hate the smell. Then they’ll hack apart your pretty little dirt road because the branches scare them when they’re trying to drive 60 miles an hour. Speaking of which, they’ll try to pave that road, since their overly expensive car is getting muddy. And when you find their lost dog and return it to them at their house, the kids will be terrified and lock all the doors. Because you mustbe a pedophile.
  9. The “educators” are retarded. This might be a universal, but seriously…Sex ed convinced me that a yeast infection could only be caused by sex. Not, like, you know, a hormonal imbalance. A teacher had the entire class convinced (because she believed) that Steven Hawking is a character off of the Simpsons. The principal is an old, fat, jock who does a great job of letting the football team drink all the underage booze they want to, so that someday they can become old, fat, jocks just like him. The literature teachers are all about providing a counter-balance to the supposed conservative nature of the school by indoctrinating you against anything even remotely conservative. Also, every single book you read will be about “Why White People Suck” or “Why Catholics suck”. And somehow, prayer before school is tolerated…but only if its lead by a non-denominational group or a Protestant.
  10. There are no black people. One time, I saw a Muslim woman at the grocery store. I kind of wanted to go over and say, “Hi, I’m Catholic. If you need any help scaring these people away from you that your hijab isn’t already doing, I’ll be glad to wave a rosary and chant some Latin.” People were glaring at her. There is no diversity in Stusa, and people like it that way. Everybody is white, and it looks pretty darn Aryan too. There’s no neat cultural events, no new books (nobody reads above an 8th grade reading level anyway) no nothing. Occasionally we get some Amish, who seem to be terrified of everyone else. Maybe we’ll drag them to hell with our women wearing slacks or something.

Biggest reason to hate Stusa? Even Jesus hated his Stusa. Or his Stj.

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Undercover Fiancee, Hypothetical Kids, and Education

I am an undercover fiancee. However, I blow my cover all the time- to the wrong people. I tell the internet, my hair stylist, my friends, and random strangers on the bus that I’m getting married.

We are saving money, and have even transferred it to a bank account.

All of Mexico probably already knows.

The police even know.

But my entire family does not- most especially my parents in particular.

Ohhh don’t get me wrong. I’m sure they know unofficially- I’ve been dating Mr. Serrano for 3 years now, and its obvious we love each other. So it probably won’t come as a surprise- or will it?

The thing is, I think I tell everyone but them right now because its like some sort of a confession. I feel guilty, I feel like I should be able to tell them everything, and I know some people consider me to be some sort of sniveling little child for failing to do so. (I’m looking at *you* Office Queen). As fast as I announce my marriage, I follow it up immediately with the obligatory information that my family doesn’t know.

And the thing is, with a normal family this is something that I would have told months ago. Mr. Serrano and I would both love to break the silence, and announce our engagement. In a normal family, this would work out.

But I don’t have a normal family. I have an emotionally abusive mother who was physically abusive in the past, and Hell itself will either freeze or thaw before she finally admits even to herself that she was so. I have a father that is submissive, and follows that carrot of sanity dangled on a stick- he hopes and hopes that someone, something will save her, be it the Mormons or psychiatric drugs. Both of them feed off of misery and stress, and I honestly think that they don’t see themselves as living if they aren’t suffering.

People wonder why I can be so negative. My family is the answer. Its rather difficult to develop positive views when you’re constantly bombarded with negative ones, even the negative ones that are dressed up to look positive. People wonder why I can laugh at absolutely anything- again, my family is the answer. If all your positives were negatives in disguise, you’d have to grab a sense of humor to survive.

If I were to tell my parents right now, they’d have very good reasons against getting married. Financial stability would be a major roadblock, and it is a major roadblock, and it would be brought up. I’m still living with these people! The reasons wouldn’t be too far off. For some people, I could see how it would worry them that Mr. Serrano is my first long-term relationship. I wouldn’t agree (seriously, do I need to try every flavor in the ice-cream shop to know that chocolate covered lemon in a small cone with rootbeer is my favorite?) but I could see the reasoning.

What I would not be able to handle would be the constant flow of negativity. I will never make my parents happy. At least, I will never please them if I follow my heart. I know that they will criticize everything down to how much I pay for a dress to the fact that I haven’t had sex yet (although I’ve purposely made suspicious noises which has taken off the pressure slightly). The more I discern marriage, the more I realize that my values are completely different from my parents’.

I believe in waiting for sex until marriage, marrying in the Church, that marriage is actually worth something, and that I shouldn’t limit the number of children I have by using contraception. I believe in marrying sooner rather than later, that marriage is a spiritual partnership, that the man is the head of household, and that my worth has nothing to do with the dollar signs I trail behind my name. I believe that unlike my parents, Mr. Serrano and I are going about this the right way. We are discerning, talking, discussing children, finances, education, religion, and family.

We are not screwing like bunnies, making “oopsies” and then discussing those things well after conception has occurred. We’re doing pretty damn well, although I honestly would appreciate advice. Can’t say I’ll follow it, but food for the brain is delicious to the soul. I know that on some level, my parents are just wanting the best for me, but the way it comes out is often patronizing, and quite frankly humiliating.

So, hopefully, Mr. Serrano and I will announce it this July or December- whichever month has at least one of us living on our own. Who knows, I might be a bad Catholic and co-habit with him.  I would rather not, but if the fallout from announcing something that should be joyful proves more nuclear than squee, living with Mr. Serrano might not be such a bad idea. I really hope that its not a sin… Mr. Serrano and I won’t be having sex…but I will be saving my sanity. I suppose we could even have separate rooms, and introduce someone else to the house so that there is more accountability (and less rent to pay).

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Filed under Mr. Serrano and other fun stuff, Political