Crazy About Moving

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I don’t know how many people move around or their views on it, but when you have lived in the same place for more than 5 years, don’t go and tell me it’s not as hard as it seems.

Coming from the perspective and experience of a 21-year-old college junior who has lived in over 4 places in the past four years (now at seven, if I’m correct) – you have no idea what the hell you’re talking about.

Moving isn’t just mentally stressful; having to pack, unpack, change your address on everything you need to get things from, learn and memorize your new address, and get accustomed to your new surroundings including where the stores are, what the roads are, who lives in your neighborhood, etc.

No, moving is also physically exhausting on the body – I would know.

It is possibly even more worse traversing between two homes like I have before and do now to get to college on certain days. People just don’t understand the pain in this; they only see the packed belongings and the start of a new adventure with friends or family. They don’t see the developed need for stability or the fear of taking the wrong things or forgetting something. Every house has a different energy running through it and most people probably feel effected by that too, like I do, going from a relaxed quiet house to one filled with animals, people, noise, and action.

I hate moving around. I hate going between houses. I hate people who don’t think this is hard.

The Difference Between Being a Realist and an Asshat

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I am an atheist and if you ever hold a conversation with me about most anything it’s blatantly obvious that I am.

I don’t hold religion against others unless they infringe on my rights, in which case, I oppose it feverishly though in a respectful enough way that I would rather debate the issue than argue about it. Some people don’t know when to stop though, and most of the time that’s me.

Today’s topic was abortion (omitted is the conversation another friend had with this person as well, besides the one comment that I enjoyed enough to reply to directly):

Me: Women should be the only ones to decide what we do with our health, regardless if abortion is being used as a form of birth control.

Catholic: Birth control? The only form of birth control that anyone needs is abstinence. You don’t want a kid? Don’t do it.

Me: You don’t get the right to make the choice what people do with their sex lives. No one should but the person themselves. You don’t want to have sex, fine, but you have no right to tell me not to have sex. If people don’t want kids, there are forms of birth control that allow you to have a sex life while being protected from kids AND STDs.

Catholic: As a Catholic, I know who does, and you know the answer to that already. Sex for the sake of nothing but pleasure is sinful and wrong. People need to learn discipline, which in this case is called “abstinence.” Don’t want a kid or va disease? Don’t do it.

Me: I seriously doubt your god would care if people fucked. How can you learn discipline in something that doesn’t exist? If you don’t do it how are you supposed to learn anything? Guess I “sin” all of the time then. I’M SUCH A BAD GIRL BECAUSE I MAKE MY OWN CHOICES IN LIFE INSTEAD OF LEAVING IT UP TO AN IMAGINARY MAN IN THE SKY.

Catholic: No, it was determined in our scripture, and I would expect you to show some respect for my beliefs. There is discipline, and anything else is animalistic impulse.

Catholic: Seriously, I thought better of you than that.

Me: You don’t respect my rights as a person to do whatever I want with my body, so why should I respect your RELIGION?

Catholic: I do, but I expect everyone to follow the ways of the Catholic Church. I’m obligated to do so. That’s how it works.

ChaseTheBreeze(friend): Okay, so if we say “No thank you. I’d rather have my pre-marital cock and stuff” can you back off? or?

Me:  I would like a pre-marital cock please, hold the ice.

I’m going to stop there because it gets incredibly ignorant after that and I don’t feel like completely making this guy look like an idiot. Moral of the story: allow people to make decisions about their body on their own and leave them alone for not believing in what you believe because they’ll get really pissy when you try to tell them to follow your religion.

(no facebook friends were harmed in the making of this blog post)

UPDATE: A conversation over messaging with ChaseTheBreeze after the debate/argument.

ChaseTheBreeze: Dear Lindsay Ann Dow,

This is my offical proposal to have hard-core lesbian sex on the steps of a Catholic Church

Yours truly,

ChaseTheBreeze.

 

Me: Dear ChaseTheBreeze,

I have reviewed your proposal and would like to have a few days for consideration. I have a few questions about this though, such as, can we do it in the summer because concrete is cold? And WHICH church?

An interested partner,

Lindsay

I love my friends.

Strange Addictions

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“Nesquik is like CRACK to me.”

I seriously said this during a conversation about what kind of milk to buy when chocolate milk was brought up.

A few years back, when I still lived with my family, I had a serious addiction to Nesquik and drank numerous glasses of it a night. I can easily say that was the most milk I have ever drank and I haven’t had Nesquik since. Probably because people understand the look in my eyes when they mention it probably means that they won’t get any and my probably-healthier-for-me-than-90%-of-the-things-I-eat/drink addiction will be able to flare up again.

Perhaps I should have my blog taken away from me at night when my strangeness really starts to show?

Taking a Stand

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(Re-posted from old Blog) 

Every day I see more and more news articles about children committing suicide because they were bullied because of a disability, their sexual preference, a health issue, their weight, their cultural preferences, their religion, or even just because they are different than the others, thus easier to pick on.

I recently read an article that a friend on Google+ shared about a child with Muscular Dystrophy that committed suicide after he was attacked. He was defenseless and could not even stand up for himself because of his disability and fear. Sadly, nowadays people are picked on and bullied for even less, like I was.

From elementary school, I was basically an outcast. I had bullies torment me every time I went to school, even though can’t remember it. My mom told me a story about how someone threw away my box of valentine cards that every child in the class got just to be mean to me, and how upset I was over that. Though it was sad to hear how I was picked on from the start, I was not very surprised that it happened even if I couldn’t remember it myself.

In junior high, a few of my friends and I were bullied every day. The boys who thought it would be fun to intentionally harm us would throw their football at us and steal our things when we weren’t paying attention or trying to get out of the way of the football. Once, one of my friends was even hit by the football. This spiraled downwards as we attempted to bring the principal and vice principal into our problem as to solve it, but they did nothing, either not thinking we were telling the truth or not caring. We were all outraged by this indifferent behavior and though we tried to solve it through less violent methods, that never helped, so we decided it was time to take it into our own hands and see if that would make a difference. It never did.

A few days after they started throwing food at us at lunch and before school, we confronted one of them, wanting to know why he threw an open carton of chocolate milk at us. He struck one of my friends on the face, and we all jumped to attack, enraged that he would dare hit a girl over being asked why he was bullying us. Before I lost all sight, my mind and eyes flooded by sheer red color, I remember throwing a punch. When I was snapped from my blind rage, another boy was holding me back as the guy I hit took off, my friends chasing after him. I cannot remember the words I screamed at him, but I was let go, only to find my friends being pinned to the lockers and restrained by the gym instructors. They were suspended but I was not. Why were they in such trouble after the principal, the whole school, knew we were being bullied for so long without any rest? Why were we punished when they were not? We had dreaded coming to school for weeks because we knew the torment would not stop for anything. I was only suspended for not wanting to leave until I knew my friends were alright, the way that they were being held in a very uncomfortable and painful way. The principal was not convinced that I hit the bully though, so I was only gone for one day.

When I returned to school, I was plagued with curious students, wondering what happened and if I really did strike him. The day was peaceful, as if the bullying had stopped. That was short lived though. The boy I hit never showed himself to me again at the school, though the rest of the bullies had decided that their new target would be to get us all suspended again by aggravating us to the point that we snapped. This never happened as we suffered through the rest of the school year without the care of any teachers or the principal.

I never once thought of committing suicide because of that, but then again, I was not beat up and had stuff stolen from me. Occasionally they took jabs at my religion, which I have since left, but my sexuality would remain unknown to them until high school, not wanting to give them another way of hurting me. It broke my heart to see them treating my friends and I that way, though I now knew how to form a wall between myself and them, not showing anything more than anger and aggression. They would not know they hurt me and caused me to cry at night. Oh no, they would only feel the anger I had toward them. Some days I wished I could torture them as well, though that was only a daydream to get me through the rest of that day so I could go home and wish I was another person and that they did not bully me. Those days I hated who I was and what they had made me. Why did they choose me? What had I done to them to make them hate me so much?

Sometimes bullying is as simple as that. Other times it’s much more complex. From personal experience, I can say that it does effect the bullied in more ways that you may think and from the recent news articles, it can cause a child to take his or her own life. This is a problem that no one but people who have experienced first hand really understand how crucial it is to stop. Our youth has grown up thinking it’s okay to treat others like dirt, like they are below them. How many children have to die before America sees this as a major problem and starts on a path to fixing it?

(Sadly, I don’t have the link to the article to share with you as this is an old post but I’m sure you could easily Google it and find that article and many more like it because it’s not like these things don’t happen every day.)

Halloween 2012

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Most of you, if you looked at the categories before clicking on this particular post might think I mixed it up. Nope.

Today, during all of the fun of Halloween, my favorite holiday of all time, I get to go to my History of Art I class. Woo.

So to keep an air of celebration, I’m dressing up as Lisbeth Salander from The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo because, guess what? I LOOK LIKE HER. And no I don’t mean I look physically like her, but I have a million necklaces, black clothing, piercings, tattoos, and I smoke. I have an attitude and I’m always in some kind of a bad mood. Perfect right?

Granted, my boots are white, but if I wear them under my tripp pants, they won’t be as glaringly noticeable  right?

The only problem I have is my red mohawk, but you know what? I LOVE HALLOWEEN. So I’ll celebrate it anyway!

Feeling Weird

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There is a squirrel in the road by my grandma’s who looks like this only he has his little front foot over his chest like he’s sleeping or pretended to faint like a opossum. So every day my dad has drove me from school we pass the squirrel and I crack a little joke.

Like maybe that’s the way his friends wanted him posed for his funeral but his tail was too attached to the road to let them drag him away so they just left him like that in the road or some shit. Or he enjoyed the breeze from the cars going by so he chose that spot to be his nap spot?

Obviously I’m feeling not so normal at this moment (1:33am), probably because I need sleep. Though this kind of strange stuff does happen to me even when I’m not sleep-deprived…

Conversations about Pasta

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Friend: lol, copy pasta.
Me: it’s like a paper pasta with other peoples words.
Sometimes my strangeness amuses even me. I do admit though, I always imagine a bowl of shredded paper with pasta sauce on it when people use this term…