My family is Christian Reformed by family, Presbyterian by choice. At least, my parents are. I'm not quite sure in what I all believe yet.
Yet there is something very wrong when a church makes a statement like this:
We believe that when a person first gets saved, the first thing they should do is buy a suit and a tie. If the individual is a female, then a dress not raised over an inch above the knee is acceptable. Clothing is perhaps the most important thing about being a Christian. If one is not properly clothed and fully representative of what God would want them to appear like.. well then, that person is probably not saved. Our motto is "get saved, get to a Christian Clothing store, and get fitted for the kingdom." Anyone who does not conform to the dress code at Landover Baptist will be fined no less than $300.00 a violation. It is a privilege to be a Christian and we believe that it is about time folks started acting like it!
If you are Christian at all, it would show in your heart, not your way of dress. Sure, some things can be innapropriate for church, but forming a dress code with a monetary violation to boot? Sacre bloody bleu.
Oh. Wait. Nevermind. The same church is also selling "What Would Jesus Do" thongs. It took me this long to figure out that this site is a joke.
It is a joke, right?
Fresh squeezed by melly at 5:41 PM
Saturdays in my family have been designated cleaning day. It's been this way as long as I could remember. My father vaccums while my mother sweeps and my sister cleans the bathrooms and I get dizzy off of dustrag fumes.
When I was little, I thought that this was a worldwide event. It's Saturday, so you better clean your room! I was so confused when I went to my grandparents for a week. Tuesday was their cleaning day. This skewed my perception of the world. I was also confused why they had a lady named Joan come in and clean the house for them. Grandpa, why don't you vaccuum? Why isn't it Saturday?
Of course, that was the day that a hot-air balloon landed in their backyard. It was rather surreal. I wondered why hot-air balloons never landed in our backyard.
I was vacuuming the living room today when the vacuum caught the edge of a blanket and sucked it right up. Bizz, whir, oh! There's a blanket stuck in here!
It took me about 15 minutes to get the fibers free of the sucking beast. Now I can understand why Grandpa doesn't vaccum.
Fresh squeezed by melly at 1:07 PM
Friday, January 31, 2003
I'm getting married when I'm 25. I'll meet a guy in Boston, or I'll keep in touch with someone I've met here.
We're adopting a girl from a foriegn country. She'll be no older than 2. We'll name her Wesley. And Wesley she she shall be.
I'll work as a journalist. He'll be a musician, or a writer, or a business man. Doesn't matter. As long as he treats his parents nicely.
We'll live in an apartment. I'll decorate.
I like to decorate. There'll be a futon in the living room.
I refuse to cook, though. No. He'll have to learn, or we'll just eat out.
I'll write home (read: to my parents) every so often. I won't say much, and they won't either. We'll both be happy with this.
I can't picture my life when I'm much older than about 35. I can't picture myself getting older.
Fresh squeezed by melly at 10:08 PM
Today it snowed the worst kind of snow. Snow that's slushy and gray even before it hits pavement. I briefly wondered if there was any point in Christmas-Songs-On-Prozac such as "Let it Snow". Whoever wrote that must've been either in Hawaii, or as previously mentioned, on a high dosage of Prozac.
For reasons that will forever remain unclear, I had a sundae for lunch. Vanilla comlete with Oreo cookie crumbs, chocolate syrup, whipped cream, gummy bears, and Reese's Pieces. The gummy bears were a bit hard to chew, so I swallowed them whole. I enjoyed the sense of power that followed.
Ever had the feeling that someone you knew was watching every motion you made through the day? It's more of a wish, actually..you wish they were watching you, wished that they cared enough to watch you. It's absurd, it really is, to continue to believe that they watch. Yet I do. This is kind of embarrasing, as there are things everyone does in life that need to be forgotten and do not need to be preserved in the mind of another.
There's pizza sauce on my hands that I haven't bothered to wash off. My hair is stiff from the sweat of volleyball practice. My socks need to be washed. My nose is running. My legs need shaving. I must look like a wreck.
I need more gummy bears. They make the world go round.
Fresh squeezed by melly at 6:57 PM
Thursday, January 30, 2003
"It is a corrupting thing to live one's real life in secret. One should live with the stream of life, not against it. It is better to be the thickest-skulled pukka sahib who ever hiccuped than to live silent, alone, consoling onself in secret, sterile worlds."
I have never been home to Boston.
I was born there, in an ugly apartment building named Peabody Terrace. My dad was trying to get through Harvard Chem School (shameless name dropping), and Mom was morking as a social worker.
We moved to Portage when I was two. I was done being a baby and dad was done being a student and mom was done being a social worker. We bought a white VW Jetta our first day in Michigan. It was stylish then, with its boxy frame and its stark black-and-white detailing.
I was happy then, too. I had my mommy and my daddy and my Stuffy (a doll I named myself) and my pink blankie with the satin rubbed off all around the edges. The world as I knew it was mine.
I grew up in Portage, in a two-story yellow house. There were lots of pine trees. I tried to climb them, but my hands got so sappy. I made forts in the woods with my best friend Michael, until a man with a paintball gun scared us away.
I fell in love for the first time when I was in 5th grade. At least, I thought it was love. It wasn't--it was just playground infatuation. I know that now. I didn't then.
Large storms came every so often, knocking down the power lines and the trees. When there were no pine trees left, we moved two miles down the street to a two-story brown house on the lake, because Mom wanted to wake up in the morning and see the lake. She doesn't though, because its too dark out when she gets up. She has to get to school to teach, Dad has to get to Pharmacia to research, and I have to get outside and walk to classes.
I like to eat cereal in the mornings and stare out at the dark lake, thinking about love. I want to love; I am in love...but not here. Love is so very far away. It's not playground infatuation, although I almost wish it was. That would be easier to brush off than this.
We sold the Jetta two years ago. It broke down on the Fourth of July, on a return trip from family in Grand Rapids that I don't like too much. We pushed the car up the highway exit ramp at one in the morning, knowing we would have to walk home. It was a long walk, made longer by the dark and the fatigue and the flip-flops on our feet.
We bought a Toyota Prius the next day. It was stylish then, with its sleek body and its energy-effecient fuel system.
I wanted to keep on walking. I wanted to walk home. Michigan isn't home. It is cold here, in every sense of the word. I wanted to walk home to perfect buildings and perfect people and perfect everything.
I want to walk to Boston.
Boston isn't really home, either, but it is in my fantasy dream. Home is happy, different, exciting, loving, comforting, musical, warm.
Home is where the hiccuping pukka sahibs live, so I can learn from them.
Fresh squeezed by melly at 6:11 PM
Wednesday, January 29, 2003
I have learned so much in the past twenty four hours, my head is brimming with more knowledge than 1,000 monkeys in a swimming pool reading damp Encyclopedia Brittanica pages.
-Est-ce qu'il-y-a un centre commercial?
-Getting a potato chip stuck up your nose (via your mouthal passage thing) is not a pleasant experience. I wouldn't recommend it, no matter how badly you want to truthfully say "Holy Flying Potato Chunks!"
-If you are rather obese and can't sing well, don't try a serious attempt of Madonna's "Like a Virgin".
-"News Policy" does not neccasarily mean "Nude Policy", no matter how perverted you think the speaker is
-Batteries die. This is bad. I wonder if energy has a soul, and if it's re-born every time you recharge the batteries.
-Wearing shorts in January in Michigan makes your legs cold.
-Some people cannot wiggle their noses. Please, let's not make fun of them. They are people too!
-When you wear socks for a long period of time, you get imprints on your feet.
-Monkeys cannot swim, no matter how many dampened Encyclopedia Brittanica pages they have for support.
Fresh squeezed by melly at 7:42 PM
Tuesday, January 28, 2003
I try to avoid political arguments, mostly because I don't pay attention enough to have an intelligent, in-depth discussion. Yet tonight is the State of the Union Speech, which I think is reason enough for me to rant just once. (And this is a 'Good, stong' state of the Union, dangit!)
Bush started his term with a large budget surplus. He used this surplus to provide tax cuts, which he said would jump-start the economy. The result, two years later? We have one of the biggest deficits to date, and the economy is worse off than it was. His solution to the faltering economy? More tax cuts.
Yeah, that makes TONS of sense. Kind of like giving away more coupons when you're store's already tanked.
Now Saddam. Bush wants to go to war, so we sent weapons inspectors...they've turned up nothing. Bush still wants to go to war. This makes it look all the more like a front, a front so that we can get back at Daddy's evildoers.
North Korea? Forget them. Even though they're the ones with proven nukes, they're fine. They didn't harm Daddy. No evil there!
Evil. Evil. Evil. I want to send the White House a thesaurus.
Fresh squeezed by melly at 9:38 PM
I was walking home from volleyball practice today, as per usual. It's snowing like heck out and I'm wearing sandals, so I pause often in the road to stamp out the snow so my socks don't get wet. I'm in the middle of a stomp when I realize I'm standing next to a broken mailbox. It wasn't broken this morning, someone must've bashed it recently.
The owner comes out of the house, shaking his fist.
"YOU DAMN TEENAGERS! I'M GOING TO TALK TO YOUR PARENTS, YOUNG MAN!"
Scared, I take of my hat. "I'm sorry, sir, but I swear it wasn't..."
"Oh. You're a girl. Nevermind, go on home. It couldn't have been you."
Well, bejeezus, now I wish it had been me who bashed his mailbox.
Fresh squeezed by melly at 6:14 PM
Monday, January 27, 2003
Sometimes I lie awake at night thinking about the most trivial items.
"Are my jeans clean?"
"I wonder what accent mark you use on 'eglise' for French"
"What would happen if suddenly the letter "E" was abolished from the alphabet"
"Who invented the alphabet?"
"Isn't Yogi Berra dead?"
"Way to fucking go, Denmark!"
I was thinking weirder things than usual last night, obviously. But this was not my fault.
Every night, I fall asleep listening to a random CD on my headphones. Last night I was listening to The Verve. I got to the last song on the disc, "Come On". It was around 11 or so, and I was ready to go to sleep. I got through the first two verses (verses that include some of my favorite lyrics of all time, by the way) and was drifting off into the great land of z's when I heard:
"WE'RE GONNA BREAK YOUR NECK! BREAK YOUR NECK! FUCK YOU!"
and other random obscenities.
Sleeeeeep tight, Melly-dith. Sweet dreams!
Fresh squeezed by melly at 7:12 PM
Sunday, January 26, 2003
I just had a sad thought.
There is nothing that sums up America more than the Super Bowl.
And you know what that means: fat guys falling on top of each other, scantily clad women with pompoms, a mishmash of popstars with glittering lights, beer, and lots of commercials.
I'm not sure if I can ever utter the "Pledge of Allegience" again.
Fresh squeezed by melly at 10:08 PM
I had something to say. Really, I did. I woke up this morning, thinking to myself, "I'm going to write about such-and-such today". And my life was filled with purpose.
Except now, I can't remember what such-and-such was. Does this mean my life has no purpose, or just that the purpose is temporarily forgotten?
I wish I was a porpoise, so I could make bad puns like "I'm a porpoise with a purpose" or, "I'm a purposeful porpiose."
Sadly, I am not a porpoise.
Happily, there is lemonade in the fridge and tostito chips in the pantry. Life is good.
Happy Super Bowl Day (If that sounded like a holiday greeting, consider it one. You're probably too far gone to consider it otherwise, eh?), if you're into that kind of thing.
If you're not, you're welcome to join me in watching home improvement shows. We can eat tostito chips together, but only if you bring the salsa.
It's funny about the Super Bowl. I can remember quite vividly that 7 years ago the Cowboys won, because the 4th graders all got football-shaped cookies and we didn't. Yet I don't even remember who won last year, much less played. If I watch at all, it'll be for the commercials.
If companies are paying a couple million dollars for a few seconds of my time, I figure it should be worth it, you know?
Ok, no you don't. But have youself a football-shaped cookie anyway.
Fresh squeezed by melly at 3:33 PM