And in chemistry class I was talking to my friend, Jack, about a gay pride festival I went to. My teacher, stupid nosy bitch, decides she wants to join in on the conversation. She asks me what I’m talking about so I turned around and her reaction was to make a noise of utter disgust. She asked me to go to the main office and get a different shirt. But being the rebel that I am, I told her very politely “no, if you don’t like it you don’t have to look at it. It’s my shirt, not yours, and there’s nothing wrong with it.” She told me again that I needed to change my shirt. I said again that I wasn’t and she told me she would have to send me to my administrator for direct disrespect. So I put on a big smile and packed my stuff up while she wrote the discipline report up.
But the thing that made me so happy that I didn’t give in and change was that as I was walking out the door a girl in my class stood up and started to walk with me. My teacher was kinda pissed and told her that she would get a write up if she didn’t sit down. And this girl, she is my fucking hero. She says: “Write me up then. It’s one more story that I can go home and tell my mothers. And I’m sure my girlfriend would love to hear it, too.” Then she smiled and walked out. I just felt the need to share what happened today with my lovely followers.
The sun shone brightly through the thick paned windows. Although it was covered in dust and the glass was rippled from prolonged heat exposure, light cascaded onto the warped plank floor. The boards were grey from neglect and they threatened to fold with every minute shift in weight. With each creak of the floor boards the eeriness was compounded.
A gust of August wind rattled the windows and the crisp leaves rustled. The third consecutive drought was brutal. A once lush valley had nearly transformed the landscape to a desert. The house’s frame creaked as it stood against the breeze. Remnants of the previous tenants lay strewn about the house. Everyday items lay untouched beneath a thick blanket of dust….
I have hundreds of scenes just like this that I’ve never been able to expand upon to a full story… I’m never lacking in ideas, just the ability to elaborate.
If I never hear the words 'mass' and 'panic' together again I'll be thrilled!
Born To Run (1x7) of Rizzoli and Isles was my least favorite episode. When I was watching it as it aired I couldn’t pay attention to the fact that Jane and Maura were in spandex because I was cringing over how many damn times Jane said “mass panic”. It’s like the writers ran out of ideas and just decided to reiterate how bad mass panic is/was in various situations.
“Napoleon Dynamite: Well, nobody’s going to go out with *me*!
Pedro: Have you asked anybody yet?
Napoleon Dynamite: No, but who would? I don’t even have any good skills.
Pedro: What do you mean?
Napoleon Dynamite: You know, like nunchuk skills, bow hunting skills, computer hacking skills… Girls only want boyfriends who have great skills.
Pedro: Aren’t you pretty good at drawing, like animals and warriors and stuff?
Napoleon Dynamite: Yes… probably the best that I know of.
Pedro: Just draw a picture of the girl you want to take out… and give it to her for like a gift or something.
Napoleon Dynamite: That’s a pretty good idea.”—
Angie Harmon’s voice is sex. It’s a deep, raw, primal growl of a thing. She’s got so much rasp to it you’d think you could grate parmesan on her vocal chords. So when you combine that voice with that face and that body and that hair and those big brown eyes… Jesus. I am helpless against the hot - Dorothy Snarker.
I worked at an antique mall that a friend owned where I took pictures of the different booths to post online. Then, most recently, I worked for two show seasons at a Walking horse training facility. It had been my intention to continue on to train for myself until I had some injuries that kept me from working.
I could never decide on a profession. I went back and forth from wanting to be in the Army, a police officer, a veterinarian, an accountant, a jockey, a horse trainer, a lottery winner. I still don’t know what I want to be when I “grow up”. Allegedly that’s normal…
“The dream of a lazy writer is to have everyone write about you. You never have to do it yourself. I would so much rather read what Mindy and Tina write about me. To be in their books is a dream come true. If I wrote a book, all I’m going to do is excerpt their chapters. I’ll write, like, an eight-page book. I’ll write a two-line foreword, then I’ll use their passages, and maybe I’ll ask someone to sketch something in the back. And then I’ll be done.”—Amy Poehler, on why she doesn’t plan to write a book (via feyminism)
I helped my mom write this for a phone interview she’s doing with a local ‘higher-up’ of the UMC to express her view on officially changing the language in the United Methodist law of Disciplines, or whatever it’s called, about the church’s stance on homosexuality.
I normally don’t, ok I really don’t ever, publish comments on religion or politics surrounding religion but I thought that this was an important thing to share.
I’ve experienced the transition from broken-ness to whole-ness in various ways in my life. I grew up in an alcoholic family, in the presence of broken promises and broken dreams and my Dad’s broken health. AA brought hope of wholeness and provided the love and encouragement and support my family needed. Secrets and shame separated us from “normal” families out in the world, but within AA our pain was acknowledged and community was shared. The Serenity Prayer guided me and God was with me.
At 33 I began my experience with the broken-ness of divorce. Seeing my marriage fall apart and then facing the responsibilities of being a single Mom of a 1-year-old and a 9-year-old were devastating and overwhelming. My church family supported me with an extravagant love during what I knew as my dark night of the soul. Out of the ashes I experienced new life and growth and strength that only God can bring. God’s people helped love me into wholeness.
In the late 1990s my daughter and I transferred to and spent a couple of years at a church that strove for racial equality, stood in ministry with the poor, and embraced and included homosexuals in the ministries of the church. As a heterosexual I experienced a kind of love and a sense of whole-ness in this church that I hunger for today. Although I continue to hear the words spoken every Communion Sunday that everyone has a place at God’s table, I do not personally witness this level of communion in practice. A church where everyone truly has a place at God’s table is pleasing to God and healing to God’s people.
In the past few years my daughter has struggled to identify and accept the truth of her sexual identity—that she is gay. She has quietly listened to the spoken and unspoken messages the church and society convey about her sexuality. When she has most needed unconditional love and acceptance and support from the church into which she was baptized, she has felt excluded and abandoned. My daughter has worked to live with integrity and honesty within the church, and instead she has experienced isolation and pain.
At the points in my life when I most needed God’s presence and the support and love of God’s people, a supportive community was there for me. That my daughter and other gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgendered people have not had the same experience causes me great pain. People who are struggling to accept and adjust to living life as their true selves— especially when they find themselves in the minority—need and deserve a loving and supportive United Methodist Church.
The United Methodist Church has a history of standing on the side of the oppressed and the excluded—slaves, children, African Americans, and women—and fighting for their equality, even when it hasn’t been the popular will of the majority. The radical kind of love Jesus calls us to is often unpopular. I believe that the United Methodist Church is living in broken relationship to gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgendered people. Jesus calls us to love one another, and our Church employs language and actions that exclude homosexuals from the church and from ministry. Language in the Book of Discipline that singles out and excludes homosexuals from active participation in the life of the church needs to be changed to words of inclusion if our church is to heal its broken-ness. I believe that Jesus’ command for us to love one another requires it.
I pray that our United Methodist Church will continue to move on toward perfection. We still have so much ground to cover in sharing God’s love and the story of God’s grace with the whole world.