Counting days...

In 10 days I'm turning 26. This seems, both, improbable and absolutely real. I've never been bothered by getting older. In fact, I rather relish the idea of being 30. Though, that will be a few more years.

I suppose that it feels improbable only because I feel like I've been older than I am for the majority of my existence. It seems odd to me to be growing older.

Children that I used to baby-sit, that I used to change their diapers, are getting their driver's licenses and learner's permits. They're graduating high school and getting ready for college. And I'm sitting here marveling at the passing of time.

As a child, I never thought time could go fast. Its adorable how very wrong I was.

In many ways I feel like an old woman of 73 or 75, blowing out the candles of my life in slow breathy gulps. I am absolutely exhausted with this life. A few more candles and it will all be done. Right?

I am absolutely humbled by the passing of time. The parts of me that are not the old woman, are young children chasing the butterflies of dream and fantasy. And yet, there is a part that is the age I am now, anxious for a life filled with... Something.

Its very confusing, existing in this body sometimes.

I am 6 parts old woman, 3 parts young girl and 1 part myself. Naivete and wisdom, trembling on the prospect of all the candles flickering out.

I feel like a loose end. Not sure how I am to tie myself up.

So, I guess I'll raise a glass of champagne, toast myself to another 26 years on this crumbling carcass of an earth and drink 'til the bubbles erase all the random puzzle pieces tumbling about in my Dali landscape of a brain.

The Bechdel Test and Manhood.

I always find it so encouraging when Men stand up for the fight against Patriarchy and Rape Culture. It isn't that we need male saviours, it is that we need friends who are willing to back us up in any situation.

I also love that he talked about one of my favorite movies "The Wizard of Oz." (Which passes the Bechdel Test, fyi.)

It is SO empowering to know that you are not standing alone, but that you are standing with other people who know and understand and WANT to help.

I love this.

The Children

There MUST be a way to teach your child to be self-expressive AND respectful to those around them. Seriously, there has to be some sort of happy medium!

I love kids, I do. I love babies, toddlers, even teenagers. I love children. But I HATE it when they are loud, terrors. I am all for self-expression and I hope that, if I were to become a mother, I would be able to teach my child how to be self-expressive, but still respectful of the people around them.

As in:
Not running around the room
Not screaming
Not throwing things
Not being generally disruptive

Seriously!!

I don't like the idea of spankings, because I was spanked as a child and I know the damage it can cause. Plus, I don't think it is right in general to hit someone and then tell them not to hit. That doesn't make sense.
But I swear to god, I was about to bust this kid's ass!

Please, parents, I'm not saying you should "control" your child, but TEACH your child SELF-CONTROL! And if you start young, they learn it very well. Ugh.

A World Away

Many years ago there was an HIV/AIDS Epidemic in the United States. It is no longer at such dramatic proportions in the US, but it is still an Epidemic for many other parts of the world. Especially portions of Africa.

Yesterday (Dec. 1st) was World AIDS Day and former US President, Bill Clinton, did an episode of Sesame Street in South Africa to teach young children about HIV/AIDS. This was a beautiful video and I'm not going to lie, I cried. A lot. Because I can't even imagine how terrifying it must be to have this infection in your body and to not even be hugged because people are so ignorant. Especially for a child, who desperately needs hugs and love and kisses to feel better.

HIV/AIDS is not a "world away." It is not a fairy tale that exists somewhere else. It is happening to people, to children, all over the world.

James Deen and the Panty Palace

If you had the opportunity to film your very own, amateur, porn with a famous porn star, would you?

Let me ask it this way: Let's say that you find said porn star immensely attractive, the scene is done to your specificity, all the necessary precautions are taken (testing, birth control, etc.) AND you could potentially make money off of it (I don't know, for certain, but I mean... You could, I guess)?

I came across this very interesting article on Huffington Post Women (I follow the Huffington Post on Facebook and in general) while I was looking at a completely different article on one woman's brave views in the face of a double mastectomy from breast cancer. And I should probably be blogging about that video instead... However, I have a lot more to say about Porn and Sexual Freedom. I don't feel like Sexual Freedom gets enough positive input either. I think we can all say lots of nice things about a woman fighting breast cancer and talk about how brave she is. But no one ever calls a porn actress brave. Well, not brave in the same sense.

Beside the point, I'm sorry. Let me have a moment to get back on topic... *deep breath*

Originally I wanted to write this blog about James Deen, the porn star. I wanted to write about the decision to make a porno and I was going to post pictures of him looking adorably average and quirky cute. I may still do that, but now I've started really thinking about this.

No one ever calls a Porn Star brave. There are lots of things we call Porn. Scummy, disgusting, exploitative, etc. We have all these negative connotations toward Pornography, simply because it is porn. But let's take a moment to think about this.

Pornography is the explicit portrayal of sexual subject matter for the purpose of sexual arousal.

A lot of us use Pornography to masturbate. Some of us use it as a stimulant to get things moving; like a sexual version of a cup of coffee in the morning. Some of us hate that we watch it, but are helplessly addicted. Some of us don't understand the point of it. Some of us use it as a pulpit to preach on the sins of mankind and still others of us use it to preach the sexual revolution.

So let's talk about the Sexual Revolution.

Your sexuality, no matter what it is, is intrinsic to who YOU are as a person. Your turn-ons, turn-offs, preferences, orgasms, etc. That is all a part of YOU that can't be removed. So we spend the majority of our lives hiding our sexual proclivities and oddities.

Which leads me into thinking about the darker side of sexuality. Rape, incest, bestiality, necrophilia, pedophilia. I believe that sexuality is intrinsic to who you are, so what does that say about these things? What does that say about a person who chooses to do those things? Make no mistake, in the end it is a choice. Sexuality isn't a choice, ACTING on your sexuality is.

I used to think that, being a feminist, I was doing others of my gender a disservice by enjoying a pornography. I used to think that God would smite me where I stood for daring to be aroused by women, by men that weren't my husband. I used to think that something was wrong with me.

That's what today's society does to you. Not porn. Porn exists because there is a market for it. We're all in the market to be sexually aroused. Its in our NATURE. We were created to be sexual beings. Even Christians would have to agree with that because the clitoris has no biological function besides orgasm. It lends nothing to the creation of life. SOCIETY is the one that tells you that it is wrong. That sexuality is wrong. That being a sexual creature is wrong.

What's wrong with me is that I have believed I was sexually worthless because I am fat. That no one could ever possibly find me sexually attractive because of my body. Because I based all of my opinions about myself on whether or not someone found ME sexually appealing. In reality, I should've been looking inwardly and seeing if anyone found me to be more than a body in a bed.

I may not shave my legs. Or wear sexy lingerie. I may read too much. I may be fat. I may be ugly.

And those are all the feelings I felt when I saw the link for doing an amateur porn with James Deen was still active. "James shoots with ALL types of women. Confidence is key!" The thought wasn't that I was married. Or that if I decided to do a porno it would be available on the internet to people who may know me. No. The first thought was "I'm far too fat and ugly to shoot a porno with."

I. Yes, I would do a porno if I weren't married.
II. Why? Because I could say I did. Because I could break a lot of the stereotypes I hold in and about myself. Because I see nothing wrong with pornography as long as everyone is a willing participant.
III. I've rambled enough for one evening. So, here is a picture of James Deen and maybe I'll think of what it was I wanted to say originally later.

Decriminalize the Human Body

Dear Radio station,
Sad to say that I un-liked your page today because of comments made about Breast Feeding in public causing people to "lose" their appetite.

Would you like it if you were forced to eat your dinner in a public restroom or a hot car or under a stuffy blanket?

Breasts were intended for the feeding of children and if some people can't be adult enough to handle that a child is hungry, maybe they shouldn't be eating in public.

sincerely,
Sarai.

Response:
"We do apologize if we offended you in any way. I will have a conversation with the air talent and try to figure out a way to resolve the situation. Until then I do express my gratitude of your listernership and I hope this incident doesn't deteriorate your listening to B-- in the future. -Management" 

"Pam at B-- will be interviewing our very own Georg'ann C. and Ann Marie N. on Monday, October 7th at 11:15am. Tune in for a great conversation on breastfeeding."

The past has teeth

The best line, as far as I am concerned, in this piece is:
"Hate is a strong word, but it is the only strength I have left. How am I to forgive the men that severed the trunk of my family tree and used its timber in the fireplaces of their own homes?"

Barbara.

A lot of stuff has been happening recently, so I've been more than a little absent. This is only one small slice of the greater issues, but it is still an important piece.

On Saturday night my Aunt Barbara passed away after a long battle with Alzheimer's, a disease that also claimed my grandmother in 2011 and my great-grandmother years ago.

My Aunt Barbara was an amazing woman and I already miss her like crazy.

Today at the funeral I just kept thinking of all the wonderful memories, a little cache I have from my childhood that I keep for rainy days. And I want to share a few with you.

When I was a little girl, my Aunt Barbara gave me books about Princess Diana. Why? Because after I heard about Princess Di's death on the radio I wanted to know more about her. She gave me three or four books that I read and re-read, for years.

There were many times that Chris, Hannah and I would be at Aunt Barb's house and we would play with her dogs and watch "Free Willy." It was one of my favorite movies for a long time because of watching it at her house.

One time she recorded Chris and I singing Judy Garland songs (we were obsessed with her and sang her songs ALL the time, poorly I might add). She saved those videos and gave them to me a few years later.
She always smiled. I don't remember ever seeing her frown. Even when I knew she was sad. She was an amazing lady and I am so sad to have lost her.

The good news is I will always have these beautiful memories to pull out when I'm sad and miss her.

Rest in Peace Aunt Barb. Tell Grandma and Grandpa I said hi.

Note to the Hypocritical.

I find it fascinating. Truly, I really do. Its amusing.

I always thought that the Bible said to:
* "Love your neighbor as yourself." (Matthew 22:39)
* "Obey your leaders and submit to their authority." (Hebrews 13:17)
* "Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother's eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye?" (Matthew 7:3)
* "Love your enemies and pray for those that persecute you," (Matthew 5:20)

I find it interesting how few people actually follow those verses, while preaching them all the time. Its so convenient to preach, but so inconvenient to follow. If you are going to go so far as to call yourself something, perhaps you should actually read and follow what you claim to believe?

A Feminist.

Alternate title: How becoming a feminist completely turned my world upside down.

Despite all the religious stifling/brainwashing when I was growing up, I still managed to hang on to my core belief that women should be treated as equals.

In spite of all the abuse and the attempted crushing of my spirit, I have come out on top.

And I have come out a feminist.

However, something that a lot of people don't seem to realize is that, being a feminist doesn't make me a man hater. It doesn't make me a Lesbian. It doesn't change anything about me. I'm still Sarai. I've always been this way, it was just buried.

Being a feminist is about equality. Not just women's rights, but rights as a whole. Everyone's rights. The right to choose, the right to love, the right to be who YOU are. That's something a lot of women have forgotten.

We're not fighting so that our daughters will be free, though that is part of it. We are fighting to show our sons that they don't have to be threatened by a strong woman and that being strong isn't always about who is dominate.

We crush our men. We crush their emotions into a powder, because crying is too 'feminine.' We mutilate their bodies, without their permission, and then tell them to suck it up, get over it. We tell them it isn't possible for them to be raped because they aren't a woman. It isn't possible for them to be abused by a woman because that somehow degrades them. Its wrong for a man to be smart, to be intelligent, etc. Its wrong for him to express anything other than sexual desire or anger. And even anger is supposed to be suppressed.

We've created this image of a man that has to be brave, powerful, idealistically masculine. What is masculinity?

The dictionary defines masculinity as 'The quality or condition of being masculine. Something traditionally considered to be characteristic of a male.' And we, as a collective societal whole, have turned this into being tough, not crying, not saying 'I love you.' We've turned it into suppression. We've turned it into something so twisted.

But we, as women, want a man who can open up, one who can express himself. Then we turn around and tell him to "man up," "be a man," "grow a pair," etc. We are just as guilty of tearing the male gender down as the rest of the Patriarchy.

We, as women, destroy our sons, our brothers, our husbands, etc. We claim to want them to be able to "open up" and be vulnerable, but we take that vulnerability and turn it against them. I've watched my girlfriends do this to their husbands. I've listened to them brag about the verbal guttings.

There is no equality if we are still denying it to someone else.

Take a moment to read this article and watch the video. I, personally, can't wait for this movie to come out. I want to start working on building up not just my own gender, but the Male gender. I want to help our Men get back to being themselves, not the idealistic "male" we have tried to shoehorn them into being.

http://www.policymic.com/articles/54105/the-one-thing-all-men-feel-but-never-admit

Will I ever be pretty?

I wanted to write about something meaningful. Something interesting and provocative. The reality is I rarely know what I'm going to write before I do it. So this is a conglomeration of everything running through my brain.

Recently there has been a lot of uproar over comments made by the President of Abercrombie & Fitch about why they don't provide plus sizes. For those out of the loop he said (and I quote):
"In every school there are the cool and popular kids, and then there are the not-so-cool kids. Candidly, we go after the cool kids. We go after the attractive all-American kid with a great attitude and a lot of friends. A lot of people don’t belong [in our clothes], and they can’t belong. Are we exclusionary? Absolutely."

One of the articles I read said that they were clinging to a "standard" of beauty.

The truth of the matter is, that it has only been in recent years that skinnier was seen as a "standard." In fact, it used to be that if you were smaller than a size ten something was wrong with you. That isn't to say that the "standard" hasn't fluctuated over time (it has, quite a bit). Because of this fluctuation it can't really be called a "standard." It is a variable.

Beauty is variable.


The persistent desire to be completely inside out and accepted, despite the secrets and sins, is overwhelming sometimes. Everyone wants to be seen as they are, completely exposed with nothing hidden, and be loved anyway. We all want to be beautiful, considered beautiful anyway.

As a little girl I wanted to be a man. I still wish I was, sometimes. I wanted to be a man because God would love me, even if I liked girls. I would be handsome. I could pee standing up. I wanted to be a man because men held all the power. They could be ugly, they could be fat, they could be anything they wanted and they would be catered to.

People like those who work for Abercrombie & Fitch helped with that. Men are dominant. They can be any size and still find things they want.

When I was a teenager I saw it this way:
Skinny girls - loved by fat guys and skinny guys.
Skinny guys - loved by fat girls and skinny girls.
Fat guys - loved by skinny girls and fat girls.
Fat girls - No one loves a fat girl, not even the fat girl.

I am not a standard. I am a variable. As a variable I am worthless, except in mathematics. It doesn't matter how well read I am, or how great conversations with me are. It doesn't matter if I am sweet or cute. I'm not loved because of those things. I am hated because this body is heavy.

That doesn't mean that I won't find sex. My grandmother Eileen once told my mother (and she shared it with me) that men will crawl on broken glass if they think they will get to have sex. Some men will have sex with heavier girls because we have low self-esteem. And how could we not? So we become a plaything. A toy to be used up and thrown away because we will never be the current definition of beautiful.

I walk into a store and all I feel is self-loathing.

I hate shopping. I hate it because fat women aren't supposed to look pretty. Everything you find is to guilt you into losing weight because you are ugly and a waste of space. I get tired of that. I try to lose weight, but it just doesn't come off. It is tiring, being told you aren't good enough and having people insist that you HAVE to be beautiful (skinny, perfect hair, big boobs, etc.) to be perfect. What about being perfectly IMPERFECT?

What about what lies at the core of us?

Beauty is only skin deep. There is truth in that saying.

All my dreams of being skinny, all my dreams of being beautiful. They all come down to a desire to be accepted. To be taken as I am. Inside out, exposed to the world and embraced in spite of the differences.

Even I am prejudiced against people with weight problems. I don't watch porn with heavy women. I am not attracted to women who are heavy. I look at a heavier woman and I feel pity for her. I feel pity for her because I feel pity for myself.

I look at women my size and I feel a modicum of hatred for them. A hatred for them because they mirror me. I hate myself. I hate the way I look. I hate who I am. I am smart. I am a decent conversationalist. I fancy myself to be a decent writer. But I am not beautiful.

I am not pretty. And even though I listen to Katie Makkai's "Pretty" I can't break out of this circle I've twisted myself in. I cry when I listen to her say "You will be PRETTY amazing, you will be PRETTY creative, You will never be merely pretty." I cry because I want to be more than merely pretty. I want to be more than a variable in a river of standards.

I want to be unafraid of being who I am. I want to believe that I could be loved by another man. I want to believe it when my husband tells me I am beautiful. I want to feel it. I want to KNOW it.

You look pretty up on Google and you get pictures of Megan Fox and Hayden Panettiere. You get women who seem impossibly skinny. Women with perfect breasts and they can count their ribs.

I will never be the definition of pretty. I'll always be a variable, even if I lost the weight. Even if I had the surgeries. Even if I made myself fit into the standard.

Something is lost in all that. The "pretty" I was is lost in the shuffle. The "me" I was is gone. And I'll never be pretty because of that.

Shocking Images

You know those pictures that say "If the picture on the left shocks you more than the one on the right..."?


I have lost my ability to be shocked by starving children in a photograph. Every day we walk past starving people and we just keep walking.
 
Everyday we walk past empty buildings and homeless people. We walk past people who have no healthcare, have nowhere to go, who are begging for the right to just be considered HUMAN. We walk past these things and we don't care, but God help you if there was a rape victim trying to have an abortion. Or a gay man trying to get married to his partner of 30 years. God help you if you so much as suggest there should be background checks on people buying weapons.
 
What kind of society is this? We fight for the lives of an unborn fetus, but then let the child starve. We don't provide the healthcare the mother needs to safely carry her child to term.
 
We whine about having to have a background check because it "won't stop criminals" but we wonder why so many people are killed when mentally unstable people get a hold of a high powered weapon.
We tell others they can't get married, but we are allowed to abuse marriage by doing it multiple times. Even if they have been in a faithful relationship for more years than you have had partners.
 
 Does nobody else see a problem with all this? Does nobody else see what I see?

The Cut

Recently I was linked to an article, posted on the website "Barrel of Oranges," about Rape. The title intrigued me, as I'm sure it would just about anyone (good on you, Barrel of Oranges!), because of the simplicity of it.

"Teaching my 2 year old how not to rape" is what it said. I was intrigued because of the idea behind it. The idea that we have to teach our children not to harm others. The idea that if we don't teach them not to harm, someone else will to teach them how to harm. The idea kind of blindsided me and I realized I had to read the article.

If you are interested in reading it for yourself here is the link:
http://barreloforanges.com/2013/03/24/teaching-my-2-year-old-how-not-to-rape/

Surprisingly, however, it wasn't her views on rape that astounded me. It was what I read about circumcision. She doesn't hide her opinion on the matter. Its right there in the first paragraph. It jolted me a bit, because I've never really thought about circumcision. At least, not as in depth as I did after reading a couple of her other posts on the topic.

I grew up in church. The majority of the people that know me (or have read a few of my rants) know this. I was taught that circumcision (of male genitalia) is required by God. I don't know why, actually. I never really understood why it mattered whether or not the foreskin was cut off of a man's junk. In fact, for the longest time I had NO idea what a foreskin even was. I had never seen an uncircumcised penis, actually. Not that I had seen very many penises at that time anyway.

But the Bible is FULL of verses on Circumcision and how men are to be circumcised. Even Abraham got circumcised at the ripe old age of ninety-nine (Genesis 17:24). What I do know is that God believed it was a valid part of a covenant between himself and Abraham (its been a while since I picked up my Bible). He even says so in Genesis. If you want specifics, chapter 17:10-11.

I've also always believed that circumcision was healthier for a man than remaining uncircumcised. Something that I discovered, upon researching, isn't entirely true. I thought that a man received more sexual pleasure if he was circumcised versus uncircumcised. However, circumcision comes down to aesthetics more than health and sexual pleasure. And, often times, it can be botched.

Now, if you had asked me about female circumcision I would've told you that it was genital mutilation. There is no aesthetic or enhanced sexual pleasure to female circumcision. It is purely to mutilate to the point that a woman no longer feels enjoyment or pleasure from sex, keeping her faithful to her husband. It is also so that a man remains "undisturbed" by the natural shape of a female sex, or her being "over-sexed." I remember being horrified as a kid reading an article on the topic by Waris Dirie, a Somalian actress and model, who had been "circumcised" at the tender age of five.

But the post by Barrel of Oranges made me think. It made me consider a few things.

Recently my god-daughter, who is 3, got a hold of a pair of scissors and cut off a decent portion of her hair (think Sinead O'Connor). Obviously, her mom was freaking out. This beautiful child, however, was not upset and told her mother that it was "perfect." I didn't "fight" with her mother, but I did tell her that if the child wants to cut off all her hair that is her right. It is HER body, not her mother's. She should be able to express herself however she wants. If she thinks she is beautiful, I want her to believe that. I want her to grow up believing that no matter what she is beautiful because she LOVES how she looks and fuck anyone who doesn't think so.

The belief that it is her body and that her mother shouldn't interfere is something I had never considered when it comes to circumcision.

The absence of a "no," doesn't automatically mean "yes."

Why would I cut off healthy, living, tissue from my son's penis just because I think circumcised is more attractive? He has no way of agreeing to this and I am doing irreparable damage to his body. Circumcision is permanent. I can't go back later and let him undo it. There is NO going back from that. And I would want my child to decide what they want. Not what I want.

My husband is circumcised. And yes, I prefer the look compared to uncircumcised. After reading up on it, doing some research and thinking very carefully about body rights, I have decided that if I ever had a son, I would never circumcise him. I would let him decide when he was old enough to understand what he was doing.

I had the audacity to ask an adult male (that I had a crush on) if he was "cut" or "uncut." I remember his being appalled at the idea of being "uncut." As if that was a disgusting thing. Why is a piece of flesh disgusting?

We can argue aesthetics all day long. I don't find penises particularly attractive to begin with, so it would be easy for me to say I prefer my husband's. It would be easy to say that the only other penis I have ever found attractive was Yul Brynner's and he was uncircumcised. Either can be beautiful. Either can be perfect. It is a matter of opinion.

What isn't up for debate, at least where I am concerned, is the ethics of it. Is it ethical to remove healthy tissue from a healthy penis without the consent of the patient? No matter how young? Is it ethical to alter someone else's body without their permission, just because they won't "remember" or because we find it more "aesthetically pleasing?" I don't think it is.

Let my child remain uncut. Let them decide when they are old enough to understand it. Let them decide what to do with their body. They only receive one in this lifetime and who am I to tell them what to do with it?

My question for my male friends/readers is this:
* What are your thoughts?
* Are you circumcised? Uncircumcised?
* If you are circumcised, do you wish you hadn't been? Are you comfortable as you are?
* If you are uncircumcised, do you wish you had been? Do you prefer being "uncut?"

Stoplights are a Go.

I was on StumbleUpon (one of my favorite websites) and came across this concept for a new stoplight. I find the idea intriguing and think it would help with traffic quite a bit, because you'll know exactly how much time is being spent while at a stoplight.



The concept is simple as you can see. The hourglass shows how much 'sand' is left before the color changes. In the case of a yellow light it shows you how much time is left before you are either able to go or how much time you have to stop.

However, this thought on time swiftly followed the traffic lights leaving me wondering if traffic lights that show how time runs out would be a good idea after all?



I can't imagine life without time. I can't imagine not having an i-phone or a clock or a computer somewhere near by to tell me what time of day it is. What did our ancestors do before they began marking the passing of time with sundials? Did they worry over all the things we worry over now? Did they imagine their time, their lives, slipping like sand through a vast hourglass, slowly disappearing?

We have a tendency to see time as a finite thing. A thing that ends. And it does, in a sense. For all of us the clock will eventually cease to tick, the sand cease to fall, the sun cease to set. We end, therefore, for us, time ends.

Time however is immeasurable. It is like taffy, pulled out into endless ropes of forever. It pulls further and further. We do not have the capability to even begin to comprehend the infinite amount of time there is stretching out before us. Yawning out like a black chasm, an endlessly long tunnel.

I think that makes it scary. Time will go on. Life will go on. We won't. We will end. Everything ends. But even after everything is gone, there will still be time. In the abyss of everything there will always be time.

Pork Chops

This is triumph. The audacity of living in a world that continues to berate you and tell you that you aren't good enough. This is the strength of hope, a shining light in the darkness that feeds on our fears and our sadness. This is beauty. And it lives in all of us.

Dream State

I had the coolest/weirdest dream last night. I dreamt that:

Bette Davis was Wonder Woman, except she had a better costume and a cooler weapon. Instead of the lasso of truth, she had an electrical whip. She was AMAZING.


Her outfit kind of looked like this except it had more gold, a darker red, no blue and it had sleeves. Plus she wore a golden headband in her blonde hair. She was SO pretty.


She had teamed up with Batman, who was played by Errol Flynn in this dream, to save these lovely young women from the Penguin. I can't remember who played the Penguin, but it was very interesting.


So Bette Davis/Wonder Woman is whipping at the bad guys with her electrical whip until one of them suddenly knocks her down and takes it. Then, while she and Batman/Errol Flynn are being whipped Spiderman shows up and shoots a compound web into the ocean (did I mention this was a Mountain Cave hideout overlooking the ocean? No? Well, that's where they were) and sets the lovely ladies on it like a zipline to safety. That is until they hit the water. Being stupid, apparently, they just keep riding the compound web down to the ocean floor, where they almost drown.

I'm super sad that there is no way this could be made into a movie, because Errol Flynn as Batman and Bette Davis as Wonder Woman is the BEST. THING. EVER!

It sucks not being able to record one's dreams!

The Guy next door

I found out yesterday that someone that I almost dated (ick, I hate saying that in retrospect), someone I went to church with, someone who stalked me, someone who used to be a friend, was arrested for possession of Child Pornography. Yes, a Christian man that I used to go to church with was arrested yesterday for viewing and downloading child porn to his flashdrive at the Public Library.

I can't even begin to explain how I feel right now. I feel disgusted and dumbfounded. I'm seriously gobsmacked (as Pomme would say) right now. I knew he was creepy and strange. I knew he had issues, which is why we didn't end up dating, but Child Porn?!

I am naive. I know this. However, it is things like being called a "damn towel-head" and finding out someone I used to consider a friend has been arrested for possession of something so heinous that causes me to shake my head in disbelief. I can't even imagine what would make someone do that! Especially at a PUBLIC LIBRARY!

Most disturbing part about this?

"D. told police that because he does not have Internet access at his home, he has been resorting to the library computers to manage the child porn collection and transfer the content to a flash drive so he may view it on his personal computer."

This wasn't a one time incident. He had a COLLECTION on his home computer! I'm so disgusted and disturbed by this that I can't even form cognitive sentences on the subject.

I went to school with this guy. I had a terrible crush on him when we were in High School. That is until he converted to Christianity. He was much more attractive when he was a Goth kid who said he would bite my tongue and make me like it. Which in retrospect is even more CREEPY. I was his friend for a long time. We went to church together on several occasions. He just got creepy after his conversion however. And then I find this out.

I can't explain what I feel right now. I'm still in shock. It hasn't fully sunk in.

Lair of the Unicorn

So... Apparently North Korea has discovered a "unicorn lair" that may have once belonged to the King Tongmyong.

How did they discover this amazing find of the century? A very helpful rectangular rock with the words "unicorn lair" carved into its face. How helpful! Why didn't this get discovered sooner? I mean, unicorns should be important to anyone's country! We should all be looking for secret "unicorn lairs" for the good of our history and culture! I mean, having grown up a girl (against my will), I know just how important unicorns are to the world!

They are symbols of purity and virginity, which is why if you are a 'ho' you shouldn't go near one because they've been said to run you through with that horn of theirs. They are status symbols of wealth and prosperity. They are symbols of strength and magnificence.

All things that North Korea needs to prove that they are, in fact, the best country in the world.

I'm off to look for my own unicorn lair, feel free to read the following article discussing this amazing and transcendental find! Good on you, N. Korea.

http://news.sky.com/story/1019118/north-korea-researchers-find-unicorn-lair

A Church for Saints.

The other night I went to church with one of my girlfriends. This particular friend is a very devout Christian, which I respect, and I have been with her to her church numerous times. I think she is hoping that one of these times I'll receive the Holy Ghost and be saved from myself. Which I also admire. It means she hasn't given up on me. But she also knows me very well and knows that my distance with God has been because of church, not a lack thereof.

I've known this particular friend for almost ten years. We met when I was fourteen and a freshman in high school. At first we didn't really like each other. I thought she was mean. Now I know that she was just teasing to be silly, not mean.

Because I've known her so long I've obviously been to church with her NUMEROUS times. As in, I've been going to this church off and on for almost ten years now.

So it bothers me whenever I go there and almost no one recognizes me. People ask if it's my first time. Or they assume it's my first time, which is even worse! The other thing is that people assume that I've never been to church ever. Which annoys the shit out of me.

See, I grew up in church. I attended church from a very, very, young age right up until I moved to OK when I was nineteen. Was my attendance stellar? No. But I was still a fairly active member in a church up until that point. I've read the Bible numerous times. I used to have huge sections memorized. I still have verses memorized.

Go ahead, ask me what Matthew 4:4 says. Go ahead. ("Man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that proceeds from the mouth of God.")

Ask me about "Patience is a virtue" (which isn't actually in the Bible) or "The Lord helps those that help themselves."(That is actually from a myth. "The Gods help those that help themselves" is something that is told to Hercules during his twelve labors.) I dare you. It'll be fun!

In all seriousness though, it kind of bothers me after a bit that people are so willing to assume that I'm an idiot. I hate being underestimated. I should take it as a compliment, but it annoys me.

It especially annoys me when people who've only been in church for a few weeks talk to me like I've never read a word of the Bible. They start preaching at me and I hate it! I've been in church longer than you, I've read the Bible all the way through several times. I know my way around the Holy Scriptures and I know what I'm talking about. You've only been in church for a short time and you want to preach at ME? Really?

I'm saying all this because I'm proud of what I know. I honestly don't care if people are impressed or not. I no longer care about knowing that stuff. I know what I know, that's it. I just don't want someone coming up to me and acting like they know everything when they clearly don't.

The other thing I don't like about church (particularly my friend's church) is the looks I receive. I have rather large breasts, I can't help that. And almost everything I wear accents them, much to my chagrin. Don't look at me like I'm a whore because you can see some cleavage. I'm not a whore. I don't need saving. Thanks, keep walking.

I don't know. Sometimes it is like you have to already be a venerated Saint to be accepted in a church. Isn't the point of church and coming to God being who you are? A sinner, a wastrel? Aren't you supposed to be imperfect coming before Perfection? Isn't God's love supposed to make you pure?

What about that verse: "Judge not, lest ye be judged."? Since when are we supposed to ignore that?

Of course, we ignore most of what the Bible says anyway. We read in-between the lines looking for a meaning that suits us. We pick and choose verses to live by because they are convenient, not because God actually tells us to.

It bothers me! That's one of the reasons I don't go to church anymore. I got tired of the hypocrisy. The biggest being committed by my ex-step-father.

My sister doesn't know what Sodom and Gomorrah is. She doesn't believe that's in the Bible. Because her father doesn't even pay attention to her. That's sad. The man who forced religion down our throats when he was with us has completely neglected his OWN FLESH AND BLOOD'S religious training. Ridiculous really.

It's people that have ruined Christianity for me. It's God that has ruined God for me. And maybe, as the teacher was saying last night in Bible class, I am treating God like a harlot by running from him and coming back only when I need him. I don't really come back, though. My life has not changed since I stopped believing in Him. I'm just as miserable, just as unlucky, just as downtrodden.

Don't tell me "Rain falls on the just and unjust alike." I've had it up to HERE with that verse. Don't tell me that I am being refined by the Refiner's fire.

I am a human being who suffers, like every other human being. And my belief in God, or disbelief as the case may or may not be, hasn't changed that.

The Moment

I don't know why I'm writing this. I just kind of feel compelled to. It's something that needs to be shared, I guess. You know, working on that memoir still, may as well write down the memories that I have been having bubble up recently.

When I was young there was a lot of stress in my life (there is still a lot of stress in my life). Back then I didn't know how to deal with it (who am I kidding? I still don't know how to deal with it!). I was self-destructive because it was a way to express the turmoil inside me. I was cruel to my body because I perceived it as my enemy. I still perceive it as my enemy, sometimes. Depends on my mood of course.


My step-father's mother used to cook all the time. I don't know if she still does because I am not in contact with her really. She used to fill my plate to the brim any time I was there and I would be told to eat every bite because "there are children starving in Africa." God, I must've heard that SO many times. This, and my growing dissatisfaction with my appearance, ushered me into what I call the "bulimia stage."

I could never finish a whole plate. Ever. I would try, valiantly. But I just couldn't do it. At first I smuggled food in my napkin and excused myself to the bathroom, where I would dump it in the toilet and flush. This quickly got old. I could only carry so much in my napkin, after all.

That's where the moment happened. That moment when I realized that my aching stomach could be purged and then I'd eat more and purge later. I could eat everything, clean my plate and be free of guilt for those poor starving African children or Chinese children or whatever starving children. It wasn't truly a waste, because I did eat it. I just threw it up later.

I did this off and on for a few years. I didn't become what one would call a "full-fledged" bulimic because you can tell when I've been throwing up. The pressure is too much for my poor blood vessels and they burst when I throw up. In my face. So it looks like someone splattered my face with blood or that I suddenly have bloody freckles. This can also happen in my eyes (which I discovered when I was in high school. Rather unfortunate experience since I looked like a freakin' demon for a week or two).

Sometimes, though, when I became ridiculously stressed I would throw up to feel better. It was like purging out all the stress building up inside of me. I didn't do it often, but I always felt better. Even now I will sometimes force the point if I feel sick to my stomach. It's not hard.

The difference between now and then is that I don't need to throw up to feel better about my stress. I may still need to if I'm sick (which is the only time I'll push the proverbial envelope), but not to deal with the stress.

I tried to commit suicide at seven. Don't ask me why, because I can't remember. I just know that I was too afraid to continue living and I was so tired of everything. I overdosed on my inhaler. That wasn't the first time.

For that particular incident, I was punished. The head pastor at the church we went to told my step-father that I was in rebellion and needed discipline. I received a "spanking." For the record, I don't disagree with spankings. I am for a good spanking (both for discipline and sexual pleasure) in certain cases. I believe you should never spank a child in anger and that you should never use anything besides your hand. You feel the sting, if you use your hand. You can gauge how much pain you are delivering and I feel like this makes the difference between abuse and discipline. Personally speaking, of course. I was "spanked" with a switch by a man who enjoyed wielding it a little too much.

I became very good at lying about my overdoses. They were "accidents." Even the one time I emptied an entire inhaler, with my step-father in the room. I did this by sitting close to the speakers of our radio/tape player/record player while he was listening to a tape and waiting until it grew loud enough to cover the sound of the inhaler. I explained them all away. And they never did me any good anyway.

As I got older I realized that killing myself by inhaler was a bad idea. All it did was make me shaky. So I decided to cut my wrists.

We lived in a house by this time. A beautiful house, really. My room was the master bedroom upstairs (as my step-father changed the basement into another level of the house), complete with my own bathroom. Perfect for a teenage girl! One day, I locked myself in the bathroom, sat in front of the door and tried to drag a knife across my wrist (which I now know wouldn't actually work). I didn't even get so far as cutting, because the phone rang at that moment. Heaven only knows why I had it with me.

It was my best friend, Jo. At the time, I took that as a sign from God, because she said she didn't know why she was calling. She just suddenly had a bad feeling and called to see if something was wrong. I cried when I told her what I was trying to do. She talked me out of it and that was the end of that.

I am actually surprised that I didn't start cutting sooner than I did because of all the pent up anger (at myself, at my mother [I'm not mad at you anymore, Mom], at my father, at my step-father, at God, etc.), stress and previous suicide attempts. It just makes sense that I would cut. In the scheme of things, anyway.

The first time I cut myself on purpose, I was at church. My boyfriend (My Edward Cullens, if you will) had just broken up with me. This was a boyfriend I was keeping secret from my friends at school because he was eight years older than me and he was a convicted child molester. Actually, I was doing a poor job of keeping him a secret. I had mentioned him to a couple friends and they freaked out (rightly so, I might add). They told me it was a terrible idea and questioned my sanity (once again, rightly so. Also, you know who you are).

I lied and said I had made it up. He was a hypothetical boyfriend. Well, I guess I'm admitting that he wasn't a hypothetical. He was real. And yes, you were right. It was an awful idea. I'm sorry that I lied about lying, but panic set in and I hate conflict.

It wasn't so much that he broke up with me as it is that we decided to break up until I turned eighteen. Oh yeah, I was sixteen (a week from seventeen) when we met. Seventeen when we started dating. I, foolishly, believed I loved him. He was the only guy who seemed actually interested in being with ME not my BODY. He liked me for me, or so I thought. And things went way further with him than they should've.

I was devastated when we broke up. I hid myself in the Sabbath School room (because I was a Seventh Day Adventist at the time) and took out a little pocket knife a guy friend had given me for protection. I was wearing a skirt that day, with shorts underneath. I pulled up the skirt a little and sliced at my inner thigh until I saw blood. My ex came in right after I had put the knife back in my pocket.

He asked if I was okay. I lied and said I was fine, though I had been crying. He said we were still going to be friends. A week later we were going out again.

Dating him was self-destructive on three fronts:
1. I started cutting because of it.
2. I pushed myself, sexually, even when I knew I wasn't ready for it (and I knew he was a bad idea).
3. I was only dating him to get my step-father's attention.

We dated for another two weeks before I found out he was cheating on me (had been the whole time, by the way) and I broke up with him. Again. He came over to my house and tried to seduce me back to him. He played a stupid ICP (Insane Clown Posse) song while we were in his car. We made out a little bit, but I didn't say I'd go back out with him. Despite my "love" for him, I couldn't take him back after the cheating. Also, that ICP song was INCREDIBLY stupid and un-romantic. Bad choice in seduction music, dude.

He's in prison somewhere. I think.

I cut for a time after that. I cut until I was nineteen, if memory serves. Secretly, of course. And I attempted to convince everyone that they were cat scratches. That didn't work, by the way. Everyone tried to stop me, to their credit. I finally quit because I knew I couldn't keep doing that to myself. I also knew that my ass would get kicked if I continued. Plus, right around the time I finally stopped I "ran away" from home to deal with my issues. Which also didn't work.

A few major reasons for my various amounts of self-destruction:
1. My emerging sexuality. I'm bisexual. Anyone who has read this blog knows that. Anyone who knows me personally should know that. But I was very closeted at the time because of my step-father, because of my God, because of my church friends, etc. My desire to be with a woman sexually was reprehensible according to my beliefs. Another portion of this was my realization that I was not "vanilla," not just bisexually. This also seemed to clash with who I "was."

2. I was surrounded by death. A lot of my family, friends and people I knew were dying all around me. It was terrifying. And disheartening. It is rough when you have been to more funerals than you ever been to weddings or baby showers.

3. My step-father was abusive. Still is, but not to me and his ways have become more subtle. We carried on an emotionally incestuous relationship for most of my formative years. He was also physically and emotionally abusive to me and my brother. My own inability to protect my brother from him played a big role in it too.

4. I was being sexually abused. By several different people and for far longer than I should've been. Sexual abuse is usually perpetuated by someone you trust and know. My ex-boyfriend was only one perpetrator of this.

5. My step-father was emotionally distant from me. Looking back I realize that I just wanted to feel like he loved me. I know, now, that he probably never did. Which stings. I was trying so hard to get his attention. I was trying to get any kind of attention from him. Anything would've been better than nothing.

6. My mother was sick (I don't blame you anymore, Mom). A lot. My mom has a lot of health issues and sometimes she wasn't there when I really needed her. It wasn't her fault, but it pissed me off as well as depressed me. I have always had a close relationship with my mom, her being unavailable when I felt like I needed her was disheartening. Plus, her almost bleeding to death on our bathroom floor from a horrific miscarriage didn't help matters. Every time she got sick I was afraid she was going to die and I'd be alone with my brother, sister and step-father. This was combined with my desire that she die so that she wouldn't be in pain anymore, which lead to a tremendous amount of guilt. Why would I wish my mother dead when I loved her so much?

7. I was desperately lonely. I had friends, but they weren't around all the time. And I felt like I only had the one really close friend, Jo. I was also desperate for any sort of validation. Which is another reason why my step-father being so emotionally distant was destructive for me. I craved validation that I was pretty, smart, etc. That lack of validation has embedded in my brain that I'm useless and stupid so that, no matter what anyone says, I can't believe it.

8. Abandonment issues. My father and I stopped talking when I was thirteen. I sent him a letter telling him I never wanted to talk to him again, that I hated him and it was his fault my Memere was dead (she had died three years prior). His acquiescing to my demands has always felt like abandonment. Part of me wanted him to verbally slap me and continue writing me. I didn't actually hate him. I just missed my grandmother. And I was angry at her for dying, for missing so much of what was to come. I was angry that I didn't get to go to her funeral. I felt like she had abandoned me. My dad had abandoned me. My step-father was emotionally distant and my mother was physically unavailable. I just felt abandoned on all fronts.

So, what was the point of all this you may be asking? I don't know. Maybe it's going to help me realize that I don't have to be self-destructive to deal with my stress? Maybe it's a way of working out externally what has been going on inside me for years internally? Why post it?

Because it is part of what will eventually be written in the book of my life, when I am old and gray. Because it is who I was. I don't need pity, I don't need the attention. Not anymore. I just need to get it out of me, like I have always needed to get it out of me. This is a lot better than a knife, or throwing up dinner. Plus, maybe there are people out there who will read it and be able to diagnose what is going on in their lives too. Help them to see that you can come away from all that crap mostly intact.

Do I have scars? Yes. I have lots of them. I do not cover them up and I am not ashamed of them. They are what has made me ME. I would not be Sarai if not for the scars that have built Sarai.

Anyway, all for now. I should've gone to bed an hour ago because I have to get up early for work in the morning. Maybe I'll write more about my childhood and stuff like that later.