Becoming an Honest Woman

Mark and I decided on the 22nd to get married on the 26th, so we are officially married. It was a small ceremony with just our immediate families attending. Our grandmothers didn't even find out until the day after. Mark and I really wanted to be together and we didn't see the point in staying apart just so we could plan a wedding. We are planning a big bash in February to allow everybody to come and celebrate our love for one another. I am sorry if this hurts anybody's feelings, but we couldn't stay apart anymore. We are still technically on our honeymoon, so I will write more later (and post some pictures).

Yuck!

These are the proofs I got from the company that was taking pictures at the graduation on Saturday. There is nothing worse than seeing a picture of yourself looking disgustingly fat. I can't play my old smoke-and-mirrors game in that black sack. Yuck!

p.s. I am excited that I graduated, but these pictures are not fun.

The End of the Long, Winding Road

This morning was the first morning when I woke up, I thought, "Holy Crap, I am graduating in two days." I have been so stressed out that I haven't had time to really focus and think about what huge milestone this is.

I can barely remember the first day of my college career. I had just turned 18 a few days before and my first class was at 8 a.m. It was Music Theory, a class that I had not qualified for, but my music professor did not want me to fall behind, so he forced me to take it. I dropped out of it, without withdrawing from it, giving me my first "F" ever. I really didn't care though. I hated college, and I really didn't want to go through with it.

Fast forward to two years later, my music professor had felt up me and every other attractive music major and moved to Indiana because there were rumors that he was having an affair with a band member. I decided that school was not for me since I cried every day. I got a job at a bank and that was my first full-time job. I did that for a semester, then quickly signed up for classes the next semester. I was decided to become a Spanish major, so I signed up for Spanish 1001, which was the first Spanish class I had ever taken. I took two years of French in high school, and was awesome in it, but all of the French classes were 8 a.m. classes, so I went for Spanish. I had high hopes of being trilingual. I had a clue that Spanish was not my major when my Spanish teacher laughed when he found out I had declared it.

Then I became discouraged and became a General Studies major, until my boss in University Relations told me that I had a real talent for writing, so I changed to English Communications. Now, I am finally graduating after five and a half years. It feels great, but I feel like I should have a Master's instead of a Bachelor's degree. I feel exhausted and ready to search for what I really want to do in life. This is my new venture. Having Mark by my side and a small sense of security really helps.

I Might Hate This Week

Yesterday I did some intensive reading about Joyce, and even though I don't have the best handle on him, I get some of it. I feel somewhat better about him, and I really do like his work. It is just really compact, leaving it hard to unravel and research. I think my thesis will go something like this: "The female characters represent a part of Gabriel's struggle with Ireland, with his wife, Gretta, representing the purest part of Ireland, and through her he realizes that by hating Ireland, he loses the purest part of himself." Or something like that anyway. The paper is due tomorrow, but I have done all of my research, so it is just a matter of putting it all together today. Wish me luck.

But, I still hate Spanish, and in about an hour I am going to have to tell a story in Spanish that I have yet to memorize. I don't really give a ham sandwich about it anymore.

Oh, and I start my period on Wednesday. Nice.

I Hate This Week

I just want to say that I hate this week: December 2 through December 9. If I don't jump off of a building, I will graduate next Saturday.

I also hate James Joyce, people too scared to write anything academic about him, British Literature teachers who give two papers during finals week, and the Norton Anthology for adding Joyce to the book.

I hate Spanish 4, memorizing Spanish stories, and anything subjunctive.

I hate Fitzgerald and T.S. Eliot's "The Waste Land," and Ezra Pound. And, no, I don't think that April is the cruelest month.

I hate teachers who do not teach a single thing all semester. I hate the financial aid department at Armstrong. (They didn't do anything recently, but they are sorry in the general sense.)

I hate the campus police who insist on giving me tickets when I refuse to buy a $50 decal for one more semester. It's non-sensical. It's nunsense.

That's all for now.

Directionally Challenged

I have always been very aware of my surroundings. It could be that my parents always taught me know where I am at all times in case someone tries to steal me or otherwise brutalize me in any form. Thankfully, I never had to use my navigational skills in that capacity, but I did retain that grounded feeling of always having my bearings in no time flat. New York, Dublin, and Atlanta are all very familiar places to me. I went out in a rickshaw in Mumbai by myself when I was 17 and didn't feel at all worried, and I always knew where my hotel was in relation to where I was. I think I have made my point.

However, when it comes to the direction that I want my life to go, the directions elude me. Mark and I have been talking a lot about this aimlessness I sometimes possess because it gets more complicated when your muffled directions cause another person's pristine guide to their life to become not so clear. Since Mark and I are going to Hollins University for the summer, he suggested that I enroll in some creative writing classes. Hollins is one of the best creative writing programs in the nation (or the world, as Mark says), so I would probably get a lot out of it. The best part is that the application process is very much portfolio based, which is good for me because my GPA and my GRE scores indicate that I have a mental handicap. So, if I want to be considered for the program (whether it be creative writing, children's literature, playwriting, or screenwriting), I have to have a banging portfolio.

This leads to the problem: my portfolio stinks. I haven't written anything worth looking at a second time since, well, forever. Specifically, it has been at least a year since I have written anything in any sort of structured or peer-reviewed atmosphere. I have a perfect opportunity to write and get feedback from excellent writers and well-read academic critical thinkers with my blog, but I am afraid of the people I truly care about on this planet thinking that I have no talent. But, this is an opportunity to produce writing (which is what I want to do) and get feedback, and I have the motivation of a graduate school application deadline (January 6 for creative writing and February 15 for all the others).

So, I am going to start posting poems, prose, non-fiction and sometimes self-deprecating works. I am working on a poem that borders on children's literature, but I just got too scared to post it yet. Maybe tomorrow.

What makes an executive producer?

Let me give some background information to this post. Mark is making his first documentary on Dub Taylor, a prolific Western actor who is not known by his name, but is known by his face and laugh. Ever since we reconnected in April, he has been making connections and doing the groundwork for a successful documentary.

Shortly after we started dating officially in July, I was able to go with him and his "executive producer," James, to an interview with Dixie Carter and Buck Taylor. I was his rock, his one source of sanity throughout the trip because everyone else was annoying at times.

The next time he set up an interview in Augusta, I dutifully went with him on two separate occasions and charmed the pants off of a handful of old cowboys. Could Mark have done that by himself? I think not.

Then, I provided resources for Mark to interview David Zucker when he came to Savannah. Sure, "James the executive producer" went with him and provided a camera for B-roll footage, but I gave Mark directions and we all know how priceless good directions are for Mark.

However, where was James when Mark set up an interview with Bobby Copeland, a western writer? Not in Oak Ridge, TN (home of the nuclear bomb). I was up at 6:30 a.m. on a Saturday, on the first day of my period with cramps that would crush a watermelon, feeding Tylenol Sinus to Mark and Midol to myself and driving all the way home in the middle of the night. That, my friends, is dedication.

I thought it was time to negotiate an executive producer credit after all of this hard work, but Mark said that executive producers give $2000 to the project. Where is James's $2000? I think that if we totalled up all of the love and support and time I have INVESTED in this project, there would be more than enough to suffice the requirements needed to be an executive producer.

Totally Unrelated to All Things Wedding

I have really enjoyed my survey classes of British and American Lit. I just wanted to share some of my favorites that I have been reading lately.

This Is Just To Say
by William Carlos Williams

I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast

Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold

In a Station of the Metro
by Ezra Pound

The apparition of these faces in the crowd;
Petals on a wet, black bough.

Leda and the Swan
by W. B. Yeats

A sudden blow: the great wings beating still
Above the staggering girl, her thighs caressed
By the dark webs, her nape caught in his bill,
He holds her helpless breast upon his breast.

How can those terrified vague fingers push
The feathered glory from her loosening thighs?
And how can body, laid in that white rush,
But feel the strange heart beating where it lies?

A shudder in the loins engenders there
The broken wall, the burning roof and tower
And Agamemnon dead.

Being so caught up,
So mastered by the brute blood of the air,
Did she put on his knowledge with his power
Before the indifferent beak could let her drop?

The Red Wheelbarrow
by William Carlos Williams

so much depends
upon
a red wheel
barrow

glazed with rain
water

beside the white
chickens.

A Kink in the Plan

Bad news, ladies. I looked at the dress that is shown below for the bridesmaid dress in person, and it looks ghetto. There is a mesh overlay on the dress. Not cute, wispy mesh; stretchy eighties mesh. So, I found some alternatives. We still have a couple of months, so we can keep looking if these don't suit your fancy.

Step Four (Getting Annoyed with the Title Yet?)

I don't have a photo with this post because I just bought my wedding gown last night. The dress had been discontinued the week before, so I grabbed it because it was my perfect size (without needing alterations) and now it is in an undisclosed location. Okay, it's at Mom's. It's gorgeous and I am happy with it. The best part is that I got it 65% off of the original price. Am I a bargain shopper or what?

Another thing is that I am not sure if we should do the carriage thing because it will be hot and we might all smell like horse butt. I could be distracted because I have a keen sense of smell. Instead, I might get a room in a bed and breakfast right in front of the wedding site so that I can watch how the set-up is progressing, and then everybody can get ready there and just walk across the street. What do you think about that?

Step Three

Here are a couple of pictures that I found of bouquets that I liked. The first one would be mine, with a variation. I would want green hydrangeas instead of the green flower shown in the photo. The second picture is the blue hydrangea bouquet I want the bridesmaids to have.

Also, I have a website on theknot.com that is pretty ghetto now because I haven't done a lot to it yet, but I will try to continue to update it as best as I can. If you have time, you can go look at it.

http://weddings.theknot.com/pwp/view/co_main.aspx?coupleid=3294284493412050

Step Two

We have picked the location for the wedding and the time. The wedding will be held at 2:30 p.m., June 2,2007 at Forsyth Park. I paid for the location today. I think that we are moving along nicely with the wedding plans. I have found a wedding planner and I am going to meet with her on Wednesday and have possibly found a photographer. Keep your fingers crossed! I also made an appointment to go to a secret bridal gown shop in Savannah on Saturday. Hopefully I will find a dress that is not a fortune and makes me want to take pictures in it. I am starting to get excited about the ceremony! (I have always been excited about the marriage part...I hope that goes without saying.)

Step One (with many more to come)

PREFACE: You know that feeling of frustration and hopelessness when you obssess about something that you have no ultimate control over? That is the surprising feeling that I have about this wedding. Of course I am happy about the MARRIAGE part of it, but the wedding, not so much. I know that when I arrive there on that day, it will be beautiful, but I am so frustrated. Okay, I know, poor me, I am getting married, I am so destitute, blah, blah, blah. Seriously, it is pretty hard to pull this thing together. The hardest parts are not knowing what to choose. I didn't grow up knowing exactly where I wanted to get married and how it was going to look like. I think it has evolved so much that now I am confused.

MAIN POINT: Here is the only thing that is (tenatively) agreed upon: the bridesmaid's dress. I wanted a chocolate brown, tea length dress that could be worn again and that wasn't very expensive. I think that this is a lovely choice.

A Kiss from a Bee

Today, I was walking through Armstrong and thinking that it is a shame that most of the students do not take the time to appreciate the beauty that is found in the flower gardens on campus. I was taking my time, observing the curve of the leaves and the pointed petals that multiplied on the prettiest flower I have ever seen. I wanted to take one, to keep it near me because of the stark beauty it held as butterflies flickered among the thick stems and delicate petals.

My mind wandered to a subject that has been the priority in my life lately: my wedding. I considered the flower again and decided that this flower was indeed very bridal. Happy with my discovery, I smiled and continued walking to class. My mind continued to float along, thinking about my wedding and how excited I am to be with Mark. In the corner of my eye, I noticed a black figure flying beside me. I didn't pay much attention at first because there were tons of butterflies all around. After a while, my dark friend had not left my side, so I looked closer to see what he looked like. I was expecting a beautiful, ebony butterfly. I was startled when I realized it was a bee. I jerked my hand a few inches away, but froze as the bee came towards my hand. I was worried that it would sting me, but it brushed the back of my hand and flew away.

There has been a difference in my awareness of nature ever since my father passed away a few weeks ago. If this moment with the bee had occurred a few months ago, I wouldn't have thought of it again. Now, I look out for signs that my dad is still around, and it humored me that he could appear in my life as a friendly bee. Bees usually frighten me, which I express through anger, swatting the air and frowning. Today I was more startled than afraid and it was nice to have a friend accompany me to class. It made me glad that my dad would pop up when I was thinking about my wedding, and I told him, in my mind, that I wished he could be there with me on that day. As I walked through the door, out of the warm sun, I promised myself to watch out for bees in June.

Strapping on the Ol' Ball n' Chain

So, it's official. I am going to be Mrs. Kasey Stokes in 215 days. We broke the news to our families (Mark's mom cried, mine told me to just get it over with and elope - you can tell who is paying for this, huh?) and church members. Mark and I are really excited, even though it is not a surprise. We talked about getting married before we started dating and we picked the date before we got engaged. We do things backwards in this relationship.

Anyway, so our motto for this wedding is a variation from the old saying K.I.S.S. ("keep it simple, sweetheart" - even though it might revert back to "stupid" occasionally, but only in jokes). We want everything really simple so that neither one of us gets overwhelmed. So far, I think we have picked the ceremony site (a historical church in Midway, GA), the vendors for the ceremony, the people that are involved, and the overall aesthetic of the day. Now, my job (between work and school) is to try to get the prices for everything and secure the vendors for the ceremony. His dad is a preacher, so he will be performing the ceremony for us.

I don't know what else to say except for how lucky I am to have Mark. He said last night that there were too many events leading up to this day for it to be purely luck, but I am so overwhelmed with the massive outpouring of love that comes from one person. I could have never imagined a better person to marry. In truth, my standards were probably a lot lower because Mark exceeded my expectations so quickly and consistently. I am truly blessed.

The Horrors of Ring Shopping

For the past few days, I have been on a mission to find the perfect engagement ring. Unfortunately, in Mount Vernon (where Mark lives) there is not a huge selection of jewelry stores to choose from, so I have embarked (sans Mark) on a quest in Savannah to find what I have been wanting for my reserved left ring finger.

I must first say that I had a false start. A couple of months ago, before Mark gave me the go-ahead to start seriously looking for an engagement ring, my brother, Steven, and I did some re-con work in Atlanta. While Mark was off at a nerd, I mean, Sci-Fi convention, Steven and I went out to Phipps mall, straight into Tiffany and Co. Let me pause here and say never to start out looking for an engagement ring at Tiffany's. It ruins it for everybody. I chose a diamond that "exceeded the floor limit" and had to view it in a private room. It was gorgeous and the price of a tricked-out BMW. The next one, that I truly loved, was a modest $31 thou. Who could afford that? However, the saleswoman said that this particular style started at a considerably lower price range, so I had lots of hope. However, to get a ring in that style for a somewhat-reasonable amount of money was the equivalent to the size of a head of a pin, so I let out a sigh and quickly moved on.

That brings me to this week. Mark gave me the okay to start seriously shopping for the ring. The first place I went to had a very excellent selection, almost too good. I was completely overwhelmed. I never could completely focus, but I did find some really beautiful diamonds. Next, I went to a chain store in the mall (something that I started out saying that I did not want to do) and looked for something that did not appear to be mass-produced. The first store I went into is infamous for having the snottiest salespeople of all. It is a local chain and everyone who works in there is not a day younger than 55. They are rude and condescending and pushy. I had to go to two different stores within their chain before I could find what I was (sort of) looking for. Yeck.

Then, I happened to walk by another jewelry store, this one being a national chain, and noticed that one of my good friends from college worked there. We started talking and it turns out that him and his girlfriend are getting married on the same day that Mark and I are getting married (June 2). We were surprised, but he was disappointed because he was going to call me and ask if I would sing at his ceremony. I said that I thought that I would be a little too busy. As we were talking, I was looking at rings, and I thought that I had found one that was perfect and on the lower end of the budget, which Mark loved. However, when I went to sleep that night, I kept tossing and turning and dreaming about that ring. I knew when I woke up the next morning that it was not, in fact, my ring.

I broke the news to Mark and he said for me to keep looking and then tell him which one I want. So, today I went to another place downtown that is not a chain and looked around. I found two possible choices, one was a solitaire (which I thought I did not want) and the other was more ornate and rather hard to describe. I told her to write down both rings so that I could bring Mark back to look at them both. As I was driving back, I decided that I did not want a white gold band, but a platinum band instead. I called the store and the salesperson said that she was just talking about me because she put the solitaire ring in the safe for me on hold because she thought that one was a better choice. I was thinking the same thing because the other, more ornate one had too small of a center diamond in my opinion. Then, just a few minutes later, she called me back and said that she found another mounting that would hold the diamond in the solitaire. I am really excited to see it, but now that just means that I have more decisions to make!

p.s. I am aware that nobody is interested in this saga but me, which is clearly identifiable on the faces of every friend and family member I tell it to, but I have got to get it out. It is so much more frustrating than I thought!

Feeling Better

I realize that most of the time that I write about my sadness and melancholy, so today I want to make a point to write about the good stuff going on in my life. Admittedly, I have not been myself for the past few weeks, and I would say that grief is as good a reason as any, but now I am starting to reclaim my objective point of view and see just how many blessings came out of my loss.

I realize now that God softens the severity of death with hope and life. Here are some really great things going on in my life.

1. My cousin and childhood best friend just told me that she is having a baby. I am so thrilled that there is going to be a new baby in the family I can hardly stand it. My sister, Kirsten, and I sat at lunch the other day picking out baby names for her.

2. I only have six weeks of school left before I graduate with my Bachelor's degree. Yes, I know that I am mentally exhausted like I said in my last post, but six weeks isn't half bad. I think I can handle it.

3. My father's passing helped me realize that fear has no place in my life. I cannot be afraid to try things that I want to do and I can't listen to those who tell me not to do something because of their fear. It feels so great to be able to reject other people's fear.

4. The most important blessing that came from my sorrow was the realization that Mark is definitely the love of my life. As I looked up at him through tear-stained eyes, through all of my wailing and anger and aloofness, Mark stayed close to my side. He embraced my family, he held them and me when we couldn't stand, he listened when I screamed that it wasn't fair that I had to go through this pain, he made me laugh when I thought I could never laugh again. He worried that my family wouldn't accept him, even though they all adore him, but after all of the days he sacrificed to be with me, I would have married him if he were the most wicked person on the planet (thankfully, he is one of the most compassionate, law-abiding citizens I know).

Now, I have nothing else to look forward to but celebration after celebration. I get to meet Mark's extended family for Thanksgiving, Kirsten and I are graduating, Christmas is coming up, a baby is coming into this world, and Mark and I are working out all of the details in merging our lives together permanently (more details to come later). I am thankful for all of the encouragement and thoughts and prayers. I have really felt them these last few weeks.

Mediocrity is the New Cool

I really don't care about my classes this semester. The only stress that I am putting on myself is to do enough work to pass and not fail. I really wasn't that bothered when I made a 74 on my mid-term, and I only stressed a little when I made a 44 on a Spanish test, but got really excited when I made a 78 on a Spanish test. I really don't care. I am not shooting for summa cum laude, or magna cum laude. My distinction will be "Thank the Loddy." Sure, I am aware that I sound like I have no ambition, but I don't care. I am mediocre in college, which goes against my high school principal's slogan, "Mediocrity is not an option." I am here to tell you, my friend, it is a great option and I am taking full advantage of it.

The Competitive Side of Me

Mark and I were talking a couple of nights ago about how our relationship is rare in that we do not base the successful outcome of our arguments on who was right, but what is right. We don't keep tabs, we don't take score, we just discuss something until we reach a reasonable conclusion. However, to supplement this lack of competition in arguments, we have created a system of games and tournaments that are usually created on the spur of the moment to see who is the greatest. Typically, we never can figure out who is better at something because the vote is tied one-to-one. However, we created a game this morning on the phone and now we want to know who wins this game.

The game is called Rap Lyric. The rules are that you take something you see around you and make a rap lyric that has a simile in it (but not necessarily) and a pop culture reference. You also have to deliver the line angrily. Whoever has the best lyric wins. The lines do not have to make sense or be clever really. Just base your decision on personal preference. Whoever wins gets the "Rapper's De-Lite Award."

Mark's lyric: "I drove past Smokey the Bear, chillin' with The Grizzly Man while eating his babies. I will punch you in the face like Mike Tyson with a facial tattoo and eating some babies."

My lyric: "I want to go to school like Paris Hilton wants a strawberry shortcake. I got cramps that hurt as bad as Aaliyah's plane crash in Florida. R.I.P."

Yes, neither one of these lyrics sound anything like current rap lyrics, but Mark likes the weird eighties rapper, Black Elvis, who just says random things angrily and makes a rap album. Feel free to vote or contribute your own rap lyric.

My Last Words

In a couple of hours, I will be speaking at my father's funeral. I wrote out the words last night, and I would like to share them before I go.

On Sunday, I saw the most beautiful example of a Christian than I had ever seen. It originated not in a church, but in a hospital and not from a theological scholar, but from one of the most suspect people you could imagine - my dad. A few years ago, my dad and I had a sort of a falling out. Through the last couple of years, he had made attempts to communicate with me, but I thought that the fight was too damaging to repair. A few months ago, I started praying that God would teach me true compassion, the kind that Jesus has for us sinners. Without me knowing, around the same time my dad found out that one of my most missed memories was riding my horse, Diablo. He started going through all of his old home videos and put together a tape of special times we shared. He had planned on sending it to me, but he got really weak and had another heart attack.

Melody called Teri and told her that Dad was in the hospital, and when she called me at 11:30 p.m., Saturday night, I knew I had to go. We were on a plane six hours later. When we got to the hospital, we waited to see him in the ICU unit. When we came in, Daddy's eyes got so big around, and he reached out to me. He wrapped his strong hand around mine and said, "You shouldn't have spent all the money and trouble to get here, and I know I don't deserve it, but I am very grateful." My last conversation with my dad consisted of chapstick, horses, hog hunting, and how sorry he was for all the things he had done. He was really sad that he had not made up with his other loved ones, but he was so proud to have all of his girls around him.

It is almost poetic how his passing resulted from his heart growing too big. His emotional conversation with Teri and I was so uncharacteristic, and he kept setting off the heart monitors every time he would talk, but the burden on his heart was lifted so that he could finally have some peace. His undeserving appreciation and repentance showed me how a Christian should behave and how I, as a Christian, should forgive. Forgiveness is the only path to freedom, and I will always be grateful that my Daddy took on that burden for me, so I could learn that lesson.

The Hardest Day of All

I lost my dad this morning. I humbly ask that you will all pray for my family during this time of immense sorrow and grieving. I will write as soon as I can.

An Announcement

I found out yesterday that I was promoted to assistant manager. I ordered new business cards and name tags, picked out a new name plate for my desk, and started signing my paperwork as "Assistant Manager." I guess I was suprised since I work part-time and this position is only offered as a full-time position. I haven't quite figured out why I feel weird about it. It could be that I see this promotion as a trap -- complacency knocking loud and clear on my door. Sometimes if I am satisfied where I am, I will not be motivated to strive for what I want to do, not just what is convenient to do. Or, it could just be that I am freaking out about getting a real 9 to 5 job. I had one for six months when I dropped out of college for a semester, but I quickly ran back to school and have worked part-time since.

The part-time job lifestyle really suits me. I am not totally responsible for a business, and do not seem horrible if I do not work all of the time. I am free to run errands or sleep in late. I can leave my work in my office and not think about it again until I come back. I can get a lot of work done, but I don't feel burned out. I know I sound like a dreamer or a total slacker, but I guess it is just that some people define success with what they accomplish with their career and I don't. Never have, never will. I feel satisfied by keeping my personal relationships going, not by moving up a corporate ladder. Anyway, so there you go. Another chapter unfolds.

The Problem with Seafoam Green

Brides say that the day of their wedding is "their day" because this is the only time that they are totally in control of every aspect of an event. The bride's expectation is for everybody to be exstatic about an event that they did not have any say about, show up to every "pre-show" event planned, spend a lot of money, and act maniacally happy for the entire engagement. Most of the bride's female friends and family members are happy to oblige, but where does this situation leave the groom? If he is caring and supportive, he will listen dutifully for hours about grograin ribbon and hydrangeas without ever saying how much he could really care less. If he is brave or completely naive, he will try to inject his opinion about how things should look on this holiest of days. Either the bride will smile sweetly and pretend to enjoy his input, or will completely shoot down the entirety of his contribution. Either way, none of his ideas will go into the final draft of the wedding day plans.

She will speak of nothing else but chiffon, seafoam green, the accommodations of the Sandals resort, her wedding band from Cartier, the limo she rented, and the blenders that are pouring in from all around the globe. While the groom wades through the ocean of fabric samples and wrapping paper, he has lost his best friend, who is now completely enthralled with everything bridal, and he feels like he will lose his independence or his male identity altogether, and is staring in the face of a humongeous price tag that will be waiting on him and his bride when they get back from their honeymoom.

Here is the catch: This groom will call up all of his unmarried guy friends and report this logic-defying new lifestyle to them. They will listen very closely and gasp at the horror that has overtaken his once rational girlfriend and turned her into a distant, shallow, obsessive person who starts to care little about him and much about other people. These single friends will leave him that night and walk home, secretly vowing to never let that happen to them.

Women wonder why men do not want to commit. They view them as selfish jerks when they resist getting engaged and roll their eyes when their boyfriends share their concerns of things changing. "What could possibly change?" their girlfriends ask. "We are practically married already," they would say. However, they both know that once that diamond is put on her finger, she will be so engrossed in this facade of a perfect wedding that everything will change. Their fiance might develop some sort of resentment when he feels like he was tricked or pressured into this less-than-ideal situation, and their relationship could suffer.

What is the alternative? It is hard to say, but looking at the wedding objectively is the first clue to smoothly transitioning from dating to marriage. Women should realize that the only way that they are going to prevent alienation from their fiance and the relationship altogether is to not obsess about any one thing, especially a glorified party. Set a budget, plan it, get help if you need it, but see it for what it is. This ceremony should not take away from your relationship, but enhance it. Realize that the feelings your future husband have are way more important than a shade of peach or the car you leave the church in. If all women would take this point of view, then men would start warming up to this idea of upcoming nuptials. Who knows? They might ask you to show them what you have planned, and may possibly even get a little excited too. As long as the two of you focus on the committment, not a party, your relationship should flourish.

The Business of Marriage

Lately I have been pondering the business side of marriage. I have been attempting to take apart this institution and look at it objectively, ripping away any of the social nuances that our society places on it. What does a marriage mean? The definition has definitely changed since the 19th century. The definition of marriage certainly does not mean the same thing in America as it does in India or Ghana. What are the rules, the boundaries, the collective goal that constitutes this thing that so many of us strive for? And what happens when we attain this goal?

In my British Literature class, we are discussing The Subjection of Women by John Stuart Mill. The premise came from his wife, Harriet Taylor's work, The Enfranchisement of Women. In it, he compares British women's status during the Victorian age to slavery. Neither he nor Harriet agreed with the idea of marriage in the first place, and he composed a legal document stating that he, in no way, wanted any part of laws of his time that gave him the right to become the owner of Harriet's possessions (which included her own body). He said that he did not think that any of these things were his, and he would not participate in such oppression. That's my kind of prenup.

Now, our society is faced with a severe contradiction: The value of a woman is found in her independence and her attachment in a marriage. Women expect other women to step outside of the kitchen and do something with themselves. Men expect women to be their companion and take care of the brunt of domestic matters. You don't believe me? Think about someone who is single, unattached, and without any prospects. If it is a man, he is footloose and fancy free. If it is a woman, she is pitied because she seems to have been discarded as undesirable, unwanted. I, myself, have fallen victim to the idea of my worth will increase if I am married.

This skewed social discourse, as Marx would see it, is false consciousness. I have convinced myself that this way of thinking is good for me. The same way that some newly-freed slaves were reluctant to leave their masters. How could that happen, one might ask? Because there is a burden and responsibility that comes with freedom. That is why we feel safe when we create laws and boundaries. These self-created laws and boundaries limit your choices so that your decisions are easier. If these are even considered decisions, because the word "decision" implies a choice.

How does this tie in to the business of marriage? Because when we expect our value or worth to increase when someone commits their future to us, the expectation of a life-altering change for the better is inevitable. Is this reality? Consider the rate of divorce, the cost to put on a wedding, the social implications that are attached to a wedding, and the modern dating relationships that Americans have, and it doesn't add up. It is all a big sham.

The truth of the matter (as I see it) is this:

1. We have an elevated expectation of marriage as a way to increase our value or position in society.
2. Society judges the wedding ceremony as a indication of the worth of a newly-married woman, and that is why there is a huge market for anything related to weddings.
3. With the way that our current dating relationships are set up as way more intimate than 19th century England, it seems that the only real thing that changes when you get married is that you gain a roommate and merge your finances. Sometimes this happens outside the bonds of marriage, so then there are no real clear lines.

Does this make me a skeptic of marriage? Definitely not. I love the idea that you can be free to explore every angle of another human being, to be a constant friend to someone and to be totally supported in everything you dream to do and to be. I love watching elderly couples who still hold hands and talk about their grandkids as they slowly walk the aisles of the grocery store. I love watching new parents make fools out of themselves to get a laugh out of their baby, and to hear them argue about how much their baby looks more like their partner. I love the idea of making a promise to someone else and to God, and watching that promise be sustained through hard times and good times, knowing that there is a constancy of love in this usually-bitter world.

Someone asked me once if I would rather have a life-long relationship with someone who doesn't understand me at all or a short-term relationship with someone who really gets me. I won't say how I responded, but I will say that the two options are two types that are found all of the time. The hope of marriage is neither of these two, but the almost impossible chance that it can be a life-long relationship with someone who really gets you.

And that sounds good to me.

A Secret Side of Me

There is a strange contradiction when it comes to happiness and creativity. I know that we often hear about the most celebrated of writers and artists being addicted to drugs, or in stormy relationships, or attached to other vices. I always imagined that if you are creative, you will always be creative, no matter what your personal life is like. However, recently I have noticed a shift in my creativity, not because I feel stifled in some way, but because I am deeply, genuinely happy. The excessive amounts of stability and comfort in this relationship has silenced my outrage on issues that I would normally storm the castle for, so to speak. I simply have nothing to say because of my disgusting contentment.

Today, after weeks of writing nothing but sweet emails to Mark, I decided to work with my new, happy state of mind instead of against it. Since all I think about every day is being with him, I decided to experiment and write the most vomit-inducing love poem I could conjur to see if any spark of creativity or enlightenment comes out onto the pages. The poem was sappy, and frankly pretty weak, but at least I was writing. Then, when I talked to him later about a dream I had, our conversation travelled to a deeper place and we revealed an insight into our more hidden insecurities and secret issues. It was so inspiring that I got off of the phone and quickly wrote a really meaningful poem in ten minutes. I am so happy that I am finally writing again. Maybe one day I will be brave enough to share it with you. Or Mark, for that matter.

Soundtrack to My Life

I have been thinking that if there was a movie made about me, the soundtrack would be very important. I remember times in my life by the songs that were permanently in my walkman or stereo. I think songs make people nostalgic like nothing else can. So, in case someone ever makes a documentary of me, this is a good start to the songs that I want to be in my movie. By the way, these are out of order, so feel free to reply and add your soundtrack.


1. "Wonderwall" by Oasis
2. “Supersonic” by JJ Fad
3. “Pour Some Sugar on Me” by Def Leppard
4. “Destiny” by Zero 7
5. “Let Her Cry” by Hootie and the Blowfish
6. “Danny Boy” by Barry Taylor
7. “So in Love” by Cole Porter
8. “Go Away from My Window” by Ruth Elaine Schram
9. “Moon River” by Johnny Mercer
10. “What’ll I Do?” by Irving Berlin
11. “Se Tu M’ami” by Alessandro Parisotti
12. “Con Te Partiro” by Francesco Sartori
13. “Waiting for Tonight” by Jennifer Lopez
14. “His Eye is on the Sparrow” by Civilla Martin
15. “Spaceman” by Babylon Zoo
16. “Jingle Bells” by Barry Manilow
17. "Hangin' Tough" by New Kids on the Block
18. "Je Cherche Un Homme" by Eartha Kitt

Who Are You?

This might not be such a well-known trait, but I am obsessed with personality books, or self-help books, or relationship advice books, or any other book that gives me some sort of insight as to why I do what I do and how I can be better. Even though I believe firmly that the Bible is sufficient to glean all the information that we need to live a spiritually-sound life of service for God, I also like hearing other people's ideas about how our ever-changing society affects our behavior.

When I was an intern for Savannah Magazine, this link was emailed to all of the staff so that we could all have a better understanding of how each other works and why we value what it is that we value. I happen to be a INTJ (a "mastermind" personality type), which is less than 1% of the population, according to this Web site. It says that I value logic and efficiency. Let me know what you are and tell me if this is representative of you.

http://www.humanmetrics.com/cgi-win/JTypes1.htm

A Little Surprise Never Hurt Nobody

Okay, so my last post was decidedly darker than I had first intended. However, about an hour after I posted my last blog entry, Mark came and picked me up from work and my day got exponentially better.

He had been warning me for days that he was not that creative and that he did not want me to get my hopes up, so when he presented me with an unwrapped wallet, I was grateful (of course) but perplexed. I went to take the wallet from the box and nine envelopes fell out. They were numbered 1 through 9, and he told me that I would have to open each of them as the day progressed. The envelopes took me to the mall for a quick lunch, then dress shopping, shoe shopping, Victoria's Secret shopping (for "undergarments that you ladies need to wear with a formal gown nowadays"), and jewelry shopping.

Then, we went back, opened all of my shopping bags, and got dressed for dinner. He wouldn't tell me where we were going, but because Mark is slightly navigationally-challenged, he helped me get him to Barnard Street (insert a sixth-grade karate-kid boyfriend joke here). After a great parallel parking job, we walked a half of a block to Jazz'd, a tapas bar. It is a really cool place, and the food was really good. We shared four tapas and had really good french onion soup and I had a bread pudding with butter rum sauce that was so strong that I would have failed a breathalyzer test, had I needed to drive.

My birthday was so special and so relaxing. I have the greatest boyfriend of all to take off a day of work and spend the day outside of dressing rooms and in jewelry stores. I felt so pampered and rejuvenated, and Mark was so generous with his time and love (and money!). I am truly blessed.

Happy Birthday to Me!

Today is my birthday, and even though I am excited as always to have a birthday celebration, I have realized that as the numbers increase, and the farther away from the year of my birth I go, the excitement comes with a little negative glow over the day. Last year was the worst birthday of my life. I was in the bed, sick as a dog, the guy I was dating at the time refused to come over because his mom said he couldn't be out at seven at night on a Sunday (Why, you may ask? Because she was nuts!), and then a family member asked for $300. Pretty crappy.

This birthday is better just because of the low standard I have following last year. However, the reality of an adult life and an adult birthday makes me a little, I don't know, blue maybe. But I am still very grateful that my loved ones make such an effort, and I don't want to sound like a brat. I just mean that there is a realization of getting older that is hard to accept. The transition from going from "When I get older..." to "I wish I could be 16 again..." is slightly uncomfortable.

Last night, my family went to eat at Applebee's to celebrate my birthday. My mom, sister, and I went to the bathroom and we saw some women that we knew (which happens a lot in small towns). Mom told them that we were celebrating my birthday, and said that going out to dinner is about the extent of celebration that this family does lately. The lady said, "I know what you mean," and then, to me, "when you get to be that age..."

However, I still feel young. I still feel like I haven't really even started my adult life. I feel enthusiastic about my future plans, even though I have slowed down and do not want to rush anymore. I feel good about finally coming out of this "quarter-life crisis" that I have been in. I feel happy, so this is a happy birthday.

My Date With Dixie (a.k.a. Mark's film project)

a.k.a. Black Elvis

a.k.a. Space Gynecologist (just a little road trip humor, sorry)

Anyway, the last couple of days have been very interesting. I decided to help Mark with his documentary on Dub Taylor, a famous Western film sidekick who had a 60-year career in show business. He found out that he would get to do an interview with Dixie Carter in her hometown in Tennessee on Tuesday, which was a great opportunity for him, since he needed some sort of break.

I think it was when I was in high school that I started watching Lifetime (I had to, it is television for women). As I would get ready for school in the morning, I would laugh at the Southern women of Designing Women. I was always fascinated by Julia Sugarbaker, Dixie Carter's character, because of her charm, wit, and strong convictions about feminist issues. I didn't know what to expect when Mark and I left Mt. Vernon at 6 am to meet her, but I knew that if she was anything like her character on Designing Women, then I would really like her.

After driving eleven hours (we gained an hour with the time zone change) to see her, we pulled into her little sleepy town in Tennessee and turned into her driveway. Her estate was really beautiful -- old, sturdy, white-washed houses with fireplaces and the aroma of firewood in the front and a brightly-lit music room in the back. There were three guest houses and a beautiful back yard. She had three ladies that worked for her in the kitchen (Mark and James called them servants) and one landscaper. When she came down to meet us, she learned our names and referred to us by name the rest of the visit. I was the only girl, so after the interview, she took me out to show me the grounds and other parts of her estate.

The thing is, I was not really into the idea of going crazy for a celebrity. I have never valued a person by their career, only by their character. I was not going to get all wrapped up in her fame and money and celebrity persona, and I certainly was not going to kiss up to her, even though filmmaking is saturated in that sort of thing. However, from the moment she met us, she demanded my respect just from the way she carried herself and ran her household. She was kind, gracious, personable, engaging, interesting, and all the things that you would expect from any human being, but somehow, it seemed more meaningful from a person who has a lot of things at her disposal. She was really glad to help with this guerilla filmmaking project, and seemed sort of inspired by Mark's vision and work ethic.

She sent us away with pimento sandwiches (cut into 1X1 inch squares) and pineapple and cream cheese sandwiches, which I heard tasted great and were homemade, but I did not partake. After a quick rest, we interviewed Dub Taylor's son, Buck, in Atlanta and then headed home.

So, 2 days, 1300 miles, and 5 hours of sleep later, I opened the door to my apartment, put down my bags and slept like a baby.

Why I like rap music.

Today when I got home from work, I checked my voicemail and saw that Kirsten had called me to ask a question about a new rap song on the radio. Since I went to Bradwell, I have sort of become the expert when it comes to rap music. I know that sounds weird that a southern white girl who goes to church listens to such "filth," but for a while now I have wondered why I like it so much, and why I still listen to it when all the Christians in my life tell me it is wrong to do so.

The answer came to me just now as I was reading Blue Like Jazz, a memoir by Donald Miller. His memoir focuses on his confusion about his faith, even though he was raised Baptist. He speaks candidly about his struggles with sin and the times he has questioned his faith, and even though I have not finished it, a thought entered my mind: I believe in God and Jesus, but I struggle with some of the things that are taught in the present-day church. I think this is the problem with conversion; some preachers are so busy spouting off things that do not matter that they don't get the true meaning of Christianity across, and people get frustrated. It is like a child who is crossing his legs because he has to go to the bathroom, and runs into a store to ask where it is, and the store clerk goes on a long rant about the history of the store. The child will either pee in his pants or run out of the store. This is graphic, I am aware of that, but my point still stands. How long do we make people wait through our stammering, imperfect sales pitch about things that are vague and intangible to hear the point of Christianity? There is an urgency that we take for granted.

Anyway, I was thinking about rap music and I realized that there are two reasons why I like it so much. The first reason is because the lyrics in the songs are telling a story, regardless of how perverse or godless it is. The story that is being told is intimate and personal, as opposed to generic "feel-good" songs or empty Christian songs. I hate to admit this, but sometimes I can't even stomach the Christian music channel on the radio because of the hypocracy and treatment of the worship of God. When I attended a non-denominal Christian church with an ex-boyfriend for two years (I went to his church on Saturday and mine on Sunday, alone), there would be times when my skin would crawl because of the treatment of worship. It was such a pop, cool, hip, let-'er-rip type of worship that was so fake and meaningless that I would look down and meditate on the Bible, for fear of being struck down.

The second reason that I like rap music is the passion behind the delivery of the lyrics. Compare the half-spoken, half-breathy delivery of Britney Spears to the gut-wrenching, mournful delivery of Tupac when he sang about growing up on food stamps and selling drugs. There is a difference that I can't relate to, but recognize. I like trying to identify with something real, not being pacified by something empty.

This is in no way trying to bash the beliefs of others, but to only say something that could open up our minds to a bigger picture when so often we are bogged down with the "administrative" side of Christianity. The rules that have been ordained by God are there so that Christians can get along and be on the same page so that we can bind together to preach the gospel. It is not the end of the story, but the beginning.

Wait for it... Wait for it...

Since I have been bombarded with papers, a job, a new relationship (not in a burden kind of way), and an internship, I have neglected my blog. I am sure that you all enjoyed checking out my embarrassing pictures, but I decided to stop the wait and give everyone an update.

1. My house is truly appalling. I have let it go, and I would rather move instead of clean it. I have to clean before Mark sees it on Saturday and figures out that I would be a horrible homemaker. I can only pull the feminist card for so long.

2. My birthday is in 19 days. I usually start the foghorn of festivities earlier than this, but since I was distracted, I have some time to make up. The thing is, 23 is making me really nervous for some reason. I guess because I have to give up things like shopping at Hollister (which I did once) and getting excited about teen movies. Is 23 considered mid-twenties? Oy.

3. I decided to end my school career with a bang and deter from taking real classes and doing everything online through IDL. It is the slacker's paradise, and I should have taken these classes earlier. What is my hectic last-semester schedule of classes look like? World Lit. I and II, Spanish 4, and Intro. to Industrial/Occupational Psychology (what makes people pick their career path). I know, strenuous.

4. As I mentioned before, Mark is coming back on Saturday, which officially marks the end of my internet romance with him. I say this as a joke, but my brother really thought that we had met on eHarmony, so I have to stop making that joke now. He said we should try to get in on the commercial. Sad.

5. Did I mention my birthday is in 19 days?

The Many Faces of Kasey

I avoided putting any revealing information on my blog because I was worried about cyber stalkers, but since I have had not any so far (which is very depressing) I have decided to post some pictures. Kirsten, you are so lucky that I did not put the Jacksonville pool picture on here. It was cut at the last minute!


This is me as a baby.

This is me around two years old, posing on the fireplace.










This is my ghetto fab junior prom picture. Notice the blue rhinestones and weave.
















This is me in the second grade at one of my many dance recitals.

The Release

I am paid to deal with problems all day, every day. I get so overwhelmed and involved with other people's problems that I completely ignore my own. I am aware that if things could run smoothly on their own I would not have a job. I am also aware that everyone has problems and that I will never experience one day that is not filled with problems. However, I do not claim to be wise and I cannot see the big picture, so I worry about what else could break. If I had to list the amount of issues that I have going on, it would take forever. I suspect that there are problems that are buried so deep inside my mind that I would not even recognize them if they surfaced.

God provides us with a perfect instruction manual to equip us with the knowledge and the insight to know how to handle our daily annoyances. God also pleads with us to let go of those problems and give them to Him so that we can tackle our mission here on Earth.

This sort of self-pity and worry that we all have reminds me of my nephew when he was about four years old. Mom, Kirsten, Teri, Stevie, and I went to eat at a restaurant and Stevie accidentally spilled his drink. Before any of us had time to react, Stevie had already jumped up out of his chair and started yelling in a crescendo, anticipating the beating that he thought was going to come from Teri. We all got so tickled about it because he made such a scene (and he was so cute for worrying so much) that we laughed and Teri reassured him that he would not get in trouble for a mistake.

Sometimes I catch a glimpse of my nephew in me when I start worrying about my problems or grieving over mistakes I have made. I imagine that God looks down on his children with the same compassion and amusement that parents often look at their own children when they can't figure out how to solve a problem. Maybe adults should do more of the lip-out, hopeless, shoulders-forward release that children do during a fit so that we can be more open to God reaching down and picking us up and fixing the problem with a sweep of His hand, instead of defiantly standing proudly and acting like a brat.

Close To Home

I am reading this memoir for my Contemporary Irish Lit. class and it is really weird. As I was reading the introduction, every word seemed as if it was coming from my mouth. Continuing on through the book, her life reveals a meandering look at how someone who is so wrapped up in being in love (and fails miserably at it) doesn't realize that she is so successful in her career (something she never cared about in the first place). I look back at my short life and realize that I have done some pretty cool things, but was too busy yelling at a boyfriend or crying because I was single to realize it. I hope to stop the similarities that I found in her book because, even though a career is important in this day and age, I have other goals in life that have to do with my part in God's plan on earth and having the greatest family ever. I feel sorry for her because even though her life might seem enviable to others on the surface, she never quite attained the things that were the most important to her. And a career is a far second from love.

Okay, so here it is...

I am officially off the market, even though I think it is funny that adult people still make it official. After around ten years of knowing each other, we reconnected on myspace, which is about a half-step above Russian mail-order brides and eHarmony (two things that have been suggested by our loving married friends). I wouldn't want to reveal the other heinous options laid out by people, but I think the point has been made. The insane thing about it is that we did not want a relationship. I was so serious about it that I told him way more about myself then I would have if I had any clue that he would want to date me. Now I feel sort of horrified and amazed that he didn't hit the road a long time ago. The great thing about it is that I tricked myself into letting someone in, and it feels pretty amazing. I don't have to live a life of trying to show only the best part of me or to censor what I say or do. I am happy, so nobody needs to give me the pity face anymore, or tell me how they wish they were single again, or ask the question, "when are you getting married?" We already worked that out. I told him he has to sign a contract stating that he has to marry me before I "lose my pretty" and have an old womb. I can't keep myself up for too much longer, so I have to maximize my abilities now. I know you people don't trust that I wouldn't do something that insane, so let me state for the record that my last comment was a joke. I already have an old womb. Ha!

And another thing, since everybody seems to have a band but me and Kirsten, we are starting our own band. I am going to sing with the teen angst of Avril and she is going to finally learn to play the guitar she got for Christmas a million years ago. Stay tuned for more details.

A Big Announcement

For everybody who has ever met me, this will be particularly amusing:

I would like to announce that I won four consecutive games of HORSE (yes, the basketball game) against all the men in my family yesterday. I have finally overcome the fear of balls flying at my head and literally put all the men to shame. I think it was my outfit that did it. I didn't have any "play clothes" yesterday, so I had to borrow some of my teenaged nephew's clothes. I wore black knee-length basketball shorts, a shirt that said, "Sorry, I only date blondes," and pink flip-flops. I was totally in the zone.

So, for all of the men that I beat (Jonathan, that definitely means you since you lost TWICE!), I hope there are no hard feelings. Who knows? For Thanksgiving we might have to play powder puff football. The boys will have to wear skirts, since I am going to beat them again like the little schoolgirls that they are! Booyah!

The Click

As I sit at my desk (okay, cubicle) and hide the fact that I am munching on some Reese’s peanut butter bites (which is SO illegal), I long for a McDonald’s sweet tea (a new love) and some real food. I have also realized that an office setting is no place for organic writing because I have a constant fear of being found “off task,” even though I don’t have any. I try to stay below the radar and look busy, but the stress of trying to make a good impression (which suffered today severely when I forgot to change out of my navy and white flip-flops before I got to work the day before my mid-semester evaluation — nice!) I feel high on sugar and cramp-alleviating prescription medicine and I cannot focus. Should I have eaten a donut stick and a Capri Sun before I got to work instead of a real lunch? Probably not. Am I making it worse by eating Reese’s bites? Definitely. The water at the water cooler is not appealing, and no one brought anything to eat on like they usually do. This is the life of an intern.

I heard an interview with the CEO of a record company on the radio yesterday morning. He said that he went from being an intern to CEO in seven years. He said that the two secrets that he learned to be successful are to learn how to make a mean cup of coffee and to make yourself, not just an asset, but a necessity to the company. I thought about that and I felt motivated for a while. However, I don’t know how to make coffee and I have attempted to make myself a necessity. It is hard to do because I am only here 15 hours a week and for only four more weeks. I will continue to try, but I get confused about where I really want to be. I really wish that something would click in my head and I would just know. I will continue to pretend to do work and listen out for the click.

Currently

Today, my editor from Savannah Magazine told me that three of my stories would be featured in the September/October Fall Fashion issue and two of my stories would be featured in the November/December issue. What does that mean? I am going to be featured in two issues, and everyone I know will have to buy, not one, but two copies of Savannah Magazine! You would think that this new rush of excitement would create a renewed sense of drive and purpose; however, this is not the case. I have a terrible case of writer's block. I have had it since I got back from Ireland. I have all the information I need for my first great feature, and I got nothin'. I have already completed two of my assignments, but this one is the first story where I will have a byline (something writers in the journalism field take very seriously).

Also, my writer's block transcends to my writing assignments for my summer courses. I don't have to go to class and I don't have meaningless busy-work assignments. Just a few writing assignments and some related reading, and I can't get it done. I just don't have any energy at the end of the day.

So what is the moral of this story?
1. I am so awesome that my writing will be in two magazines.
2. I am still a procrastinator, even when the assignments are easy.
3. I am not good at school, nor do I like it, even though I am almost finished.
4. I have a severe case of writer's block.
5. I am completely goofing off while on the clock.

Cheers!

So Breakable

This post goes along with my last post. After a long day of consoling, grieving, and caring for my tear-stained sister and her two shocked and sullen boys, I came home to my precious dog, Buster. I love him so much and it is hard to think of a life without him. I feel like there are too many balls to juggle, too many tasks to cross off the to-do list. I sacrifice a little bit of everything in my life just to deal with my life. The worst part of this day come in two parts: the beginning when I got the 7:40 a.m. call alerting me to the death of Taco and the end when I got a random message from a stranger.

Someone sent me a random message letting me know that I look great now, because in high school, he thought I was "kinda big." Then he said right after that: "no offense." This comment is harmful to me for a couple of reasons:
1) I feel overwhelmed, so I am already weepy.
2) I tread on very thin ice when it comes to body image, and it hurts me to realize that such an ignorant comment could shake me so badly.

I am sad that something said so flippently could shake my self-confidence. I am sad that the quiet, constant whisper of my self-conscience in high school is reappearing after years of pushing it out of my head. "Does everybody think that I am fat?" I look at my pictures and there seems to be reflected this constant struggle with getting my body to conform to the current standards of beauty. I hated my breasts in school because I was the only one who had a D cup, so I was either labeled a slut or not thin. I hated my butt because guys would always comment on the shape and size as I walked down the hallways. I hated my arms because they were so thin and so weak. I hated my thighs because I couldn't wear the sundresses that were so popular. There were so many limitations that came with my body type. It was only in college that I learned how to work with them and then I really started to believe that my body type was actually what was desirable. I thought that I had a truly feminine shape that men are attracted to. I believed that so much that I started attracting guys who would reaffirm my new confident body belief. I finally started attracted guys that were not a step down for me, guys that were good for me. I started realizing that there was more to me than this body that was provided, and that I could maneuver around it so expertly that no one would notice that I now had even bigger breasts and even more curves. I actually believed that this was the best I have ever looked because I was the most comfortable with myself than I have ever been.

It is sad when you realize all of that growth can be shattered by a word, an ignorant moment, a suggestion. The self-doubt that was so meticulously buried comes back to the surface and the burden is once again strapped to my already over-worked shoulders. One word proves that I am so breakable.

A Very Sad Day

My sister called me this morning to tell me that her beloved dog, Taco, was run over by a car when she let him out this morning. I loved that dog. It made me think about how it would make me feel if Buster was taken from me.

A "Nice and Naughty" Confession

If anybody knows the reference that I am making in my title, then you know where this post is going.

I have a horrible confession. I love the new Paris Hilton's new song, "Stars are Blind." I tried to fend off the sweet melody in my ears, but I have succumbed to the sound. The beat is pop reggae. Go ahead and scoff. I expect it. BUT! I do love it. So there. Shameless admission complete.

Worth

When did that happen?

The moment that I became so self-conscience.

I find myself obsessed with my looks, even though not enough to change the things I don't like about my appearance. I worry about what I will say, or what I do, or what I look like. I worry that I won't have friends or that I will never get married, or that I will and be miserable. I have doubts about my abilities as a writer and as a woman and as a friend.

I know that I teeter on the fence of being over-analytical, but I feel that my life isn't starting yet. I will be turning 23, something that I JUST figured out a few days ago, and that number is like an alarm clock set on midnight. I don't know why 21 or 22 didn't do that to me. There is no explanation for this change, except for seeing all of my friends "grow up." Those friends that I used to have that still spend their days laying by a pool and going out to clubs at night have all fallen by the wayside in my life, mostly because I do not have anything in common with them anymore. If I compared where I am with them, I probably would feel right on track. I hate that I freak out like this, especially when I know everything will be fine, but mostly because I don't like always waiting for life to start until I look back and see that I have wasted my life waiting.

Once I graduate, I would like to know where I will be working and living. Then, I will go on to my personal life and try to sort through all of that. I see "child brides" getting everything together at the age of nineteen and wonder what is going on with me. I always wanted to be a relatively young mom, but that number just keeps getting pushed back. A few years ago, I used to wish for a miracle so that I would be married and pregnant, but obviously that did not happen. I don't even know why I used to wish that. Maybe that is how I define worth.

This entry, as most of my entries, is not really going anywhere, but I know that I am starting to feel WAY overwhelmed with the internship, classes, and work, so I am venting.

I stole it from Alicia...

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Ireland: Part Two

Hello All,

I just wanted to post a quick note to tell you to check out my Ireland slide show on my myspace account. I think everybody who reads this knows it, but if you don't, my address is posted on another entry. Cheers!

Kasey

Ireland: Part One

First of all, I am not a total nerd who would sacrifice part of her vacation to blog. On the contrary, I got separated from my group today because of an unfourtunate UTI that needed some Irish medical attention. I am waiting for their return, so I decided to catch you all up on what I have been doing in Ireland for the past 24 hours.

Yesterday was a blur. I had to keep myself from falling asleep while I was looking at two of the most beautiful places I had ever seen. If I come back with real estate brochures, an oddly new addiction to Guinness, and an Irish accent, don't be surprised. I saw the rural Western Ireland, specifically the Burren and the Cliffs of Moher. The Burren is a beautiful place of old walled ruins and the cattle is supposed to be the best because they graze by big pieces of limestone, which supposedly makes the meat taste better. The Cliffs of Moher is breathtaking. It is beautiful. It reminded me of Wuthering Heights (which I love) and there was a surprising extra bonus: puffins!!! They were everywhere. We stopped several times to look at all of the sheep, donkeys, cows, alpacas, and horses we found on the road. The extremely flirty, 60-something coach driver made us stop twice for a pub break.

Today, I am in Galway which is famous for the rowdy night life. I will be able to experience it tonight, because last night was just not going to happen. I apologize if I communicated strangely to any of you yesterday because I was seeing stars. I feel much better today and have almost completely adjusted to the metric system, euros, and fun sayings. My favorites are "room for let," "chef/cook required," "mind your step," and "lift."

One last note: my hair. I have never had my hair look like cotton candy, but in this weather and humidity, my hair is literally a puff on the back of my head. It was so bad this morning that I actually braided it on one side of my head. Look out for the pictures. Nice!

I wish I could post pictures, but I can't. You will have to wait with bated breath until I get back. I wish my family and friends could be here to see everything with me, but I have quickly made a posse of my own: Lauren and Stephanie. It makes it easy and fun for time off and room assignments. They even waited with me in the doctor's office. I hope the rest of my vacation, eh, educational study abroad trip is as great as the last 24 hours. I will be seein' ya.

Top of the Mornin' to Ya, (Okay, they don't say that here, but I couldn't think of anything Irish to say.)

Kasey

What's In a Name?

The topic of babies always finds itself cropping up in my family. Whether it comes in the form of holidays, adoption, the pain of childbirth, or parenting techniques, the issue of babies is always on the mind of all of us (especially the women). Because of this obsession and because Mother's Day just past, I would like to share some baby names that I love. There is a phenomenon of naming babies after someone in the family, but I want my children to have their own identity without any expectations from the previous owner of the name who has already started (and possibly ended) their time on earth. So, there will be no family names in my list. I also want to state for the record that all names on the list (either yours or mine) will not be taken. So feel free to share without the worry that someone will take the name that you have protected since the fifth grade (don't act like you haven't had your names picked out since then!)

1. Sescie (pronounced seh-see)

2. Kahri (pronounced caw-ree)

3. Andrew (means "courageous")

4. Asa (means "healer")

5. Kale (means "man")

6. Bryce (means "the freckled one")

7. Ben (means "son of my right hand")

8. Christian

9. Adalai (pronounced ad-ah-lay)

10. Ella (means "fairy maiden")

11. Carson (means "from the marshland")

12. Kate (means "pure")

13. Roan (means "little red-haired one")

14. Emma (means "healer of the universe")

15. Caroline (means "valiant, strong, free")

Obviously I do not plan on having enough children to use all of these names, but I like all of these names.

I looked up the meaning of my name:

Kasey: Irish, meaning "vigilant"
Leigh: Old English, meaning "meadow"

You can look up meanings of names at http://www.babynames.com.au/search-main.htm. What does your name mean?

Breaking the Silence

I have found that publically speaking about the search for a marriage partner is, in some ways, a distasteful subject, especially for the opposite sex. I wonder how long women will have to continue participate in this delicate dance of dating while secretly analyzing if the guy is "marriage partner material." I would like to rebel this silent analysis and frankly display what type of man is acceptable for me to marry. Feel free to add to this list, or make your own.

1. He must be a "true" christian. I mean someone who takes his walk with God seriously, and I wouldn't mind if he was stronger in his faith than I am. (It would be a nice change!) Also, I would want him to be on the same page as me in terms of religion. I want someone who will sit beside me in the pew, not in a pew down the street in another church. Where would the kids go? Which leads me to...

2. He has to want children, and have the desire to be a great dad. He must know what it takes to be a good father according to God's word, and take his responsibility seriously. Also, my mother would have a heart attack if she didn't get any grandchildren out of me. (Children is another topic that some men don't want to discuss.)

3. He has to be good with finances. Enough said.

4. He has to have a GREAT personality, love my family, love my friends, and love my jokes.

5. He cannot be jealous, have a bad temper, be abusive (verbally, emotionally, or physically) or any other negative character trait that is damaging in a relationship. These issues stem from a low self esteem problem, so I want him to have high self-esteem.

6. He needs to be attractive to me. I don't need a traditionally foxy guy, but I want someone who is attractive to my standards, and it wouldn't hurt if he found me really attractive.

7. He has to dedicate himself to becoming my best friend and really connecting to me because I would do the same for him. I expect the same amount of effort from him that I put in, and some days when I don't put in a lot of effort, I would love it if he didn't retract his effort as well.

8. He has to have drive in his job. I don't really care what the job is, but I want him to be passionate about it. I, sometimes, get discouraged about persuing my passions, and I would really like it if someone could push me to not give up. I really think it is important to have a cheering section built in to a relationship.

9. He has to be virtuous. This includes being trustworthy, kind, caring, loving, rational, gentle, wise, earnest, etc.

10. Last but not least, and I say this in all seriousness, he has to LOVE Buster. Not a surface friendliness, but an honest caring for my dog. I feel bad for saying this, but guys that I have dated who did not like Buster did not last for long. I really resent people who do not like animals, or who act jealous of them. I think that is immature.

Well, I think that is a good start. If I left out anything, I will have to add it later.

Leaving Me Breathless

Ever since I took a video production class this semester, I have been fascinated with film making. Lately, when I watch films I find myself analyzing shot compositions, sound recreations, and editing styles. I realize that, even though not all directors are revered as "auteurs" of their films, every director puts their stamp on the final outcome. This is true with the film I watched today, United 93.

Director and screenwriter, Paul Greengrass-best known for directing The Bourne Supremacy, was definitely the author of this film. The first thing that I noticed about the film is the way he chooses to shoot the action. He uses closeups almost through the entire film, which keeps the audience right in the tension, drama, fear, action, and heartbreak. Even though we know too well what will happen, it does not make the film any less uncomfortable to watch. He uses a real (intact) plane to shoot the scenes, he shows real CNN footage of the attacks on the World Trade Center and Pentagon, he uses the gasps and screams from the actors to replicate our own reactions when we saw the terror on television.

I remember exactly what I was doing on 9/11/01. I remember hearing someone come in my class and say that a plane had hit the Pentagon. My teacher told them that they were crazy and started the class. I had to wait an hour before I called my boyfriend at the time, who was a police officer in the military. He said that he was already aware of what was going on. I drove as fast to his house as I could and sat on the couch with him as we watched the replay of the worst attack on US soil that I could remember. He had to go in to work, and for days, my roommates and I sat together on our couch, crying and holding hands until we all decided that we should be with our families. America pulled together for months, which was good for me because my boyfriend had to leave to go to Iraq.

I remember one day I was turning in the middle of a large intersection. Someone had a flag waving on the outside of their car, but it blew off and was on the road, underneath the red light. As I was turning, I stopped my car in the middle of the intersection, got out of my car, and picked it up off of the ground. Instead of the horns honking and bad words that I would normally expect for slowing down traffic, I got smiles from the other drivers.

This film brings me back to this time because after almost five years, we are already so far removed from this tragedy. We are back to blowing horns and not stopping to help others who need it.

This film softened my heart to the tragedy of this day with two scenes in particular. The first shows some of the passengers on the air phone, saying the Lord's Prayer with their loved ones, while, at the same time, showing a parallel shot of the terrorists praying to their god. The other scene was when the passengers started calling their loved ones, telling them that they loved them. Some of the people did not pick up the phone, so they had to leave their last goodbyes on an answering machine. The sickness on their face and the pain of knowing that they could not hear those who they loved one last time is enough to make the most macho of men shed a tear. The title is also something that is strong. Even though it was the flight name, it still speaks volumes about what happened on that day. The bravery, or heroism, or the execution of God's will, or whatever you call it was the main theme of this film. It was beautiful, haunting, heart-wrenching, and a film that will take a while to forget. Hopefully longer than five years.

Searching for the Truth?

I found this really great website about what the church believes and arguments against subjects like inherent depravity and arguments for why apostasy exists. I found the scriptures that are used to be very helpful in knowing the truth about the Bible.

http://www.insearchoftruth.org/index.html

Breaking Up is Hard to Do

...well not really.

The thing that is difficult is the pity looks, the urge to over-analyze the decision, and the reaquaintance with single life.

The pity looks are depressing, yet somewhat comical. They usually come from good friends, family members (who think that my biological clock is ticking loudly--even though I do not hear it at all), or married acquaintances. Friends and family, I can handle. The married acquaintances are the real stressor to my newly single life. It's like in that one look they are saying "yeah, before, when you were in your two year relationship, you were inching closer and closer into our 'married' club, but now you are totally shunned."

The urge to over-analyze does not stop with break-up situations. I have a strong tendency to analyze over and over again on every situation. When the unfortunate situation arises that calls for a hard look at my current relationship, the wheels start turning in my head and do not stop until a very long time after the relationship ends. I don't even worry about if I made the right decision because I don't make rash decisions (usually) but I reassure myself that I did the right thing over and over again.

The worst thing about breaking up is reaquainting myself with single life. I have forgotten how to go to the store alone, I don't know what to do with myself on a Friday night, and I must patch up all of the broken friendships that my monopolizing relationship destroyed. All of the generic advice to fill the time falls flat for me: "start playing a sport," "go out dancing," "remove all traces of your past relationship and burn in in a ceremonial cleansing." Who does that? Oh, and the urban legend that break-ups cause a spring of creativity and the newly single person writes with a renewed sense of purpose. Well, that's garbage. I am still a dry well like I always am around the end of a semester.

Don't get me wrong; I am not sad or depressed that I broke up with Kevin. It has been a month, and I haven't really felt bad about it at all. We are still good friends, but we cannot agree on religion. Does that mean that I am going to move into a convent and marry God, or whoever nuns vow themselves to? Never in a million years.

I should have more time to devote to school, family, and other activities, and I do, but I prefer to be in a relationship. However, even though that desire to be in a relationship is there, I will not sacrifice my time and energy on an unfruitful relationship. So then the question arises, "to date or not to date?" I am not ready to answer that question. Dating for fun is really for sixteen-year-olds who devote themselves to mall-perusing and body glitter. I, on the other hand, am not interested in dating just to date. On the other hand, I do not want to close myself off completely and miss out on some really good guys (even if they are only friends). I just don't trust my judgment anymore. It is like a limp leg that I am dragging around, taking care that no one bother it and watching for any impending damage to it.

This is meandering, at best. It is late and I am tired. You know what I am trying to say.

Today in Music

I found this really cool website that tells you what the number one song was on the day you were born (or really any day that you care to know about). The number one song the day I was born was "Every Breath You Take" by The Police. If you are curious, take a look and add your song.

http://www.thisdayinmusic.com/member/birthdayno1.php

I finally broke down...

I finally broke down and got a myspace account. If anyone would like to visit, go to http://www.myspace.com/kaseyleighray. I hope I don't get too obsessed with it and neglect my blog!

Romans 16:16

Because of the tragic murder of Matthew Winkler, my church, The Church of Christ, has been under media scrutiny the past few weeks. I have seen the media try to peg our church a cult, or say that we are ratical. For this reason, I would like to state, for the record, what I believe (and what the Church of Christ believes).

1. I believe in acapella singing.

Ephesians 5:19 Speaking to yourselves in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, singing and making melody in your heart to the Lord;

Colossians 3:16 Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly in all wisdom; teaching and admonishing one another in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, singing with grace in your hearts to the Lord.

2. I believe in taking the Lord's Supper weekly.

Acts 20:7 And upon the first day of the week, when the disciples came together to break bread, Paul preached unto them, ready to depart on the morrow; and continued his speech until midnight.

3. I believe in baptism for the remission of sins.

Acts 2:38 Then Peter said unto them, Repent, and be baptized every one of you in the name of Jesus Christ for the remission of sins, and ye shall receive the gift of the Holy Ghost.

Acts 22:16 And now why tarriest thou? arise, and be baptized, and wash away thy sins, calling on the name of the Lord.

Mark 16:16 He that believeth and is baptized shall be saved; but he that believeth not shall be damned.

Galatians 3:27 For as many of you as have been baptized into Christ have put on Christ.

1 Peter 3:21 The like figure whereunto even baptism doth also now save us (not the putting away of the filth of the flesh, but the answer of a good conscience toward God,) by the resurrection of Jesus Christ:

4. I do not believe in fundraising schemes.

1 Corinthians 16:1-2
1 Now concerning the collection for the saints, as I have given order to the churches of Galatia, even so do ye.
2 Upon the first day of the week let every one of you lay by him in store, as God hath prospered him, that there be no gatherings when I come.

2 Corinthians 9:5-7
5 Therefore I thought it necessary to exhort the brethren, that they would go before unto you, and make up beforehand your bounty, whereof ye had notice before, that the same might be ready, as a matter of bounty, and not as of covetousness.
6 But this I say, He which soweth sparingly shall reap also sparingly; and he which soweth bountifully shall reap also bountifully.
7 Every man according as he purposeth in his heart, so let him give; not grudgingly, or of necessity: for God loveth a cheerful giver.

5. I do not believe in women preachers.

1 Timothy 2:11-14
11 Let the woman learn in silence with all subjection.
12 But I suffer not a woman to teach, nor to usurp authority over the man, but to be in silence.
13 For Adam was first formed, then Eve.
14 And Adam was not deceived, but the woman being deceived was in the transgression.

6. I do not believe in clergy or titles (like "reverend" for preachers). "Pastor" does not mean "evangelist" in the Bible-- it means "elder."

Psalm 111:9 He sent redemption unto his people: he hath commanded his covenant for ever: holy and reverend is his name.

Ephesians 4:11 And he gave some, apostles; and some, prophets; and some, evangelists; and some, pastors and teachers;

7. I do not believe in any creed other than the New Testament.

2 Timothy 3: 16-17
16 All scripture is given by inspiration of God, and is profitable for doctrine, for reproof, for correction, for instruction in righteousness:
17 That the man of God may be perfect, thoroughly furnished unto all good works.

8. I do not believe in any earthly church headquarters.

Hebrews 12:2 Looking unto Jesus the author and finisher of our faith; who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is set down at the right hand of the throne of God.

Ephesians 1: 20-23
20 Which he wrought in Christ, when he raised him from the dead, and set him at his own right hand in the heavenly places,
21 Far above all principality, and power, and might, and dominion, and every name that is named, not only in this world, but also in that which is to come:
22 And hath put all things under his feet, and gave him to be the head over all things to the church,
23 Which is his body, the fulness of him that filleth all in all.

9. I believe in going to church on Sunday.

Acts 20:7 And upon the first day of the week, when the disciples came together to break bread, Paul preached unto them, ready to depart on the morrow; and continued his speech until midnight.

1 Corinthians 16:2 Upon the first day of the week let every one of you lay by him in store, as God hath prospered him, that there be no gatherings when I come.

John 20:19 Then the same day at evening, being the first day of the week, when the doors were shut where the disciples were assembled for fear of the Jews, came Jesus and stood in the midst, and saith unto them, Peace be unto you.