An End to Poverty

Recently my husband sent me an imgur about how Switzerland was considering a minimum income program.


The point of the minimum income program would be to provide every citizen of Switzerland with $33,600 annually as a way to eliminate the poverty line. Pretty simple right? Sound good? The picture sparked some commentary (which I was also linked to) which, in turn, brought my attention to a program in Canada from the 70's called "Mincome." The project was based in Manitoba and provided families below the poverty line with a minimum, guaranteed, income every month.

I posted the picture (and commentary) to my Facebook page as a way to share with my like-minded friends. Obviously, I have some friends who are not so like-minded. The following is commentary made by my friend (LG) and myself.

LG: The problem with this is we have tried this in various forms, and people tend not to appreciate what they get for free: hence the vandalism, wasting of food and resources etc. I do believe in some forms of public assistance, but people in general need to feel they're contributing something to society, however little. Look around at the epidemic of children in this country who have no input from their fathers, financially nor emotionally. Herein lies much of the cause.

Myself: I would have to politely disagree. The problem isn't that children have no input from their fathers (mine has been non-existent in my life for almost 13 years and I feel no need, nor desire, to vandalize) or even that people feel the need to vandalize and take advantage. The problem is people not being able to LIVE.

If the government had caused the acceleration of minimum wage to coincide with the rise in average cost for goods and production we might see less of a problem. However, because the cost of services, food, medicine, etc, has risen dramatically while the amount of money flowing into the average working man's pocket has stayed at a pitiful (dare I say, negligible) amount, we are left in a flux.

I see nothing wrong with the Government (by the people and FOR the people) taking care of its People. The fact that the Government would rather spend literally Trillions on Military and on a war that was supposed to only last a "couple of months" (I am quoting Vice President Dick Cheney there) instead of providing affordable health care, food, better Education (we're ranked so abysmally on the World Wide scores that it is rather disgusting) and affordable birth control (so that there were less Children starving and without homes/families) is an absolute travesty.

The other problem is that we have a lack of proper education to show just how truly ignorant we've been of how the rest of the world works.

Places like Canada, Switzerland, Sweden, Germany, Denmark, The Netherlands, etc. have been putting time and effort into their People so that Sweden is shutting down an astonishing amount of their prisons because there aren't any criminals to fill them. Canada has higher prices, but better health care. So much so that Americans sometimes go to Canada to receive the health care they need! Denmark is the HAPPIEST country in the WORLD. In the WORLD! South Korea and Finland out rank us in Math, Science and English. 

The cause of our problem(s), is this: Our Government has become one that would rather waste tax dollars regulating women's bodies than protecting citizens from guns (I am pro-gun and pro-regulation), become one that believes that a Corporation can have Religious Rights (last I checked, Corporations aren't people) and We The People are the ones suffering. They are still getting the money they need to waste. They are still getting fed. They are still getting to make all the decisions for people that they don't even know and don't care to know.

That is the cause of our problem(s). The government has been completely warped from what it was intended to be.


Want more info on Project Mincome?

• http://public.econ.duke.edu/~erw/197/forget-cea%20%282%29.pdf
• http://www.dominionpaper.ca/articles/4100
• http://archive.irpp.org/po/archive/jan01/hum.pdf

Lackadaisical

I'm sorry that I've been rather lackadaisical with my posting of late. Things have been a little bit crazy on my end.

I'll skip my usual Easter/Zombie Jesus Day rant and tell you all that I am feeling like today is a new beginning, in the most Pagan of ways.

Fertility is all around us, the awakening of the earth to a new life, the everlasting cycle of Birth, Life, Death. I have to admit that I love this time of year because it just goes to show how cyclical our lives truly are.

All for now, Happy Spring to you all.

A HUMAN Right.

I understand that a lot of people believe that marriage should be just between a man and a woman. Okay, fine. You believe that. But how can you deny another human being the ability to be with the person they love just because they are gay? That is NOT right.

We used to believe that people who weren't the same color couldn't get married. Because it was a "sin" because it was "unnatural." The problem is we are ALL the HUMAN RACE. We are ALL HUMAN BEINGS. We ALL deserve the same rights.

A lot of people say this country was founded on God (it is pointless to argue on that, you won't believe me anyway), but we were ALSO founded on FREEDOM. We came here to have the right to religion, free speech, etc. We came here to find our own God(s) and our own ways of life. And NO ONE has the right to take that away from you. NO ONE.

Perhaps we should remember that the next time we ask a soldier to die for a country that won't let them marry the person they love.

A Fool, A Day

I should know better than to argue with fools. Especially on the day of Fools. Does this day give them super powers or just make them EXTRA stupid? Just curious.

If being Liberal is wrong, then I willingly embrace it. Last I checked believing in the Freedom of the Individual didn't make me a Satanist or a Liberal Pig. It made me a human being!

Why do we put labels on ourselves? Why do we feel the need to do that? It makes no sense to me. We are all HUMAN. What labels are needed? What does it matter what I believe and what I don't?

I'm not sorry that I believe in Equal Rights and I don't understand how that makes me wicked.

I'm not sorry that I believe EVERYONE should have the right to Health Care, Education, Marriage, Religion, etc. And I don't understand how that can be so wrong. I don't think I'll ever understand. I don't think I WANT to understand. I want to continue believing in what I believe is right.

I see nothing wrong with being who you are in the supposed "Land of the Free." You know, the one that says I have the right to LIFE, LIBERTY and the Pursuit of HAPPINESS?

A Choice

I've stopped wearing the hijab. I won't attempt to "try out" any other religions. At least not in the near future. It isn't so much the giving up, as it is the emotional upheaval that bothers me.

I want so desperately to believe in something, but I don't. And wanting to believe in something and actually believing in something aren't the same thing. In the end it felt like a lie. A desperate attempt on my part to be something more than I am. Maybe I was never meant to be a religious person. Maybe I was never meant to defend or protect or change anything. Maybe I was just meant to be me.

I was torn. Torn between my defiance in the face of adversity and my heartbreak in discovering that I couldn't put my faith in something I can't see. Not again. Even though I fiercely defended it with everything I had in me. I would still defend it. I will defend any religion (except Scientology, but that is because it is not a "real" religion), to the death if necessary. I will defend anyone who wishes to practice those religions. I have a great appreciation for them. A deep love for the thoughts and the practices and the motions. I just can't do them myself.

I may still wear the hijab in private. Just between myself and whatever god or goddess may exist out there. Maybe the all exist. Sekhmet, Jesus, Krishna, Allah, Athena, etc. Maybe they all exist and that is why the world is so insane. Too many cooks in the kitchen.

I have learned a lot, which is what I originally stepped out of my shell to do. I force myself into the open to learn, to take it all in. To force a change in myself that I feel needs to happen. And I have walked away with a thought.

I never knew prejudice before now.

Oh, I understood it. On a level that most people do. It was abhorrent and wrong. But it is different when you step over the line and see what it is like to be on the side actually living with it. Living under it.

I lost track of how many times someone asked "Where are you from?" and they didn't mean what state. I had people refuse to let me wait on them. I had people call me all sorts of names. My life was threatened at one point. It was that that made me want to continue, even when I knew I had lost the heart of it. I didn't want to give up and let them win. Let them be the reason I was giving up. I haven't given up, though. It wasn't them. It was my inability to continue lying to myself. I have accomplished part of what I set out to do. I saw what it was like.

Shams (a Muslim friend who moved to the states from Bangladesh) told me once that I couldn't understand what he went through. And I will never fully understand what he goes through, because his experiences will be different from mine, but I have had a taste.

I've rambled now. It's the migraine that keeps coming back. I just keep circling the same thoughts over and over.

Stuck in the Caverns of my Head

A sad tale, to be sure, I am currently being plagued by a severe case of writer's block and depression. No, I don't know why I'm depressed, I just am. I've been thinking a lot lately and I think I just think too much.

I feel like such a disappoint me sometimes. I've tried so hard to accomplish something, something to make my parents proud, make my grandparents proud, hell, make ME proud. I have yet to feel like I've done that. Though my mother and my step-father tell me all the time how proud they are of me.

One of the few things I don't like about my recent conversion to Islam is not showing my hair. I kind of miss doing cute things with my hair where people other than my husband can see it. I know wearing hijab isn't required to be a practicing Muslim, but I kind of enjoy wearing it. I feel more secure in it, even though I miss showing my hair.

I am surprised by how passionate I've become about Islam. I have always had a deeper desire to learn about it. A deeper desire to explore. I just didn't realize how much I would love my experiences with it. Even the bad ones. They have made me something more than I was. And I am okay with that. I feel like in some ways I have become better. In other ways I know I still need growing and maturing. Its a funny thing discovering that you are never as mature as you think you are. I still have so much growing up to do, in spite of all the growing I thought I had already done.

I have been thinking about guns, wars, hates and gods. I've been thinking about this world with all the people in it, all the beautiful things we could learn, and we still can't love each other. It hurts. I'm not sure why, but it does.

I have been dreaming about death and sadness. I wonder if it is an omen of things to come or a representation of my current surroundings.

A prevailing thought is that I have to be brave in the face of what I don't know. I have to keeping going forward because I am so close to something, even though I don't know what it is. I am standing on a precipice and all I hear is "I'm not going to fall, I can't."

And in the midst of all this, I hear Josh Groban singing "Brave." And I know those lyrics fit me somehow, but my puzzle is incomplete.

Let the Christmas Rants begin

I am so sick of people who try to force "Merry Christmas" down my throat.

I don't celebrate "Christmas," never really have. I have always believed that "Christmas" was a pagan holiday (partially because I do my research) dressed up as a "Christian" holy day to convert more pagans to Christianity during the early days of our history.

Newsflash, Jesus wasn't born on Christmas. In fact, we'll never know exactly when Jesus was born. Since Israel has roughly the same climate as the state of Indiana (in the USA), I'm going to say it definitely was NOT December, as no shepherd in his right mind is going to be out in the middle of winter with sheep that could freeze to death (or starve as there would be nothing for them to graze on) thus depriving him of his flock.

It offends me when people try to force me to say something I don't believe in. I'm not going to tell you Merry Christmas if I don't believe in it or feel like it. Please respect that wish. Also, think about what you are doing when you try to force your beliefs down other people's throats. Are you really being Christ-like?

I am all for people being Christians or Muslims or Jews or Hindus or Buddhists. But we need to learn that there is a difference between being an example and being a jerk. You can be a good *insert religious preference here* and not badger people about converting.

*End Rant*

The Girl in the Head Scarf

Up until now I have been keeping this to myself, but a few things recently have really made me think and when I think I have to write. So here it is.

I have recently converted to Islam. Or, at the very least, attempted to. I'm not very good at it, in my personal opinion. Of course, I've always been a little too independent for religion to begin with. I don't think I was a very good Christian either. So far, in my religious experiences I seem to have made a much better Atheist. Beside the point of course.

The biggest part of my conversion is my searching for something to believe in. I may be a Muslim forever, I may revert back to Atheism. I may decide to practice Judaism. Allah alone knows the answer to that. And I truly believe He knows the answer.

Does this seem very odd? I'm sure it does. With all the times I have ranted against God it seems silly to have this "eleventh hour" conversion. I'll admit that it seems odd to me as well, considering that I truly believe God and Allah are the same being. I refuse to attempt to explain it really. I have just decided this is the path I'm going to try and I'm going with it.

This also explains why I have been posting a few different things about racism recently. Because this is something I've been experience since I started wearing the hijab. Yes, I am wearing the hijab as part of my conversion. And something strange happened when I started doing that. I felt more comfortable as myself and everyone around me became more uncomfortable.

Former co-workers have threatened to run me over with their cars, men in Mexican restaurants say not so nice things about my "turban," and, most recently, random strangers drive past me shouting at me that I am a "damn towel-head." Former co-workers have embraced this newest me (as I am constantly evolving), offered to protect me, random strangers have invited me to come and speak with them at Mosque and there has been encouragement. In truth, it has been a bit of a polarizing experience.

I knew there would be resistance. This isn't the first time I have donned the hijab. Though the first time was in high school, in solidarity with a Muslim friend who was run out of town, and as a social experiment. And part of this is a social experiment. Life is a social experiment. Beside the point of course.

I knew that I would find out who my real friends were. Though it has been a bit painful. Some of the people I thought I cared about turned out to be the enemy. But I'm still here. And I am still wearing my hijab.

I've also come to the conclusion that Christians in the US (obviously if you are Christian and reside in another country this doesn't necessarily apply) have NO clue what they are talking about when they speak of "persecution." You've never been persecuted unless you've walked in someone else's shoes. Which is what I'm doing now. It is part of the refining fire, as the Bible says.

I'm scared, but I'm elated. I like pushing the boundaries, but I am afraid to go too far. Am I a freak? I suppose time alone will tell.

Racism.

Racism is defined as a belief or doctrine that inherent differences among the various human races determine cultural or individual achievement, usually involving the idea that one's own race is superior and has the right to rule others.
It is also defined as hatred or intolerance of another race or other races.
I cannot comprehend that. I can't understand how someone can hate another person or another religion so much without understanding it or knowing the person. How can you look at someone in a hijab and automatically hate her? How can you look at the color of someone's skin and already hate him? You don't even KNOW them. You don't know who they are, you don't understand their beliefs, all you know is the outside appearances.
I don't understand how we can claim to be the 'land of the free' when we still have soldiers who can't marry the person they love because they are gay, we have people calling our president the n-word, we have people threatening to run over other people with cars because they wear the hijab and we have people afraid to practice their religious and personal beliefs. That isn't a free country.

The Golden Man.

Dear ____,

I keep telling myself that I will stop missing you, stop writing you. I tell myself that I never really loved you and you never really loved me. It doesn't make anything hurt less, it doesn't change how I feel. No matter what I do, I keep thinking about you. I miss you. I wish things had been different.

I was seventeen. I had just gotten out of a bad relationship. I had finally broken up with the Edward in my life. My home life was deteriorating. I was losing faith in God, in religion, in love. I was wilting, like a forgotten flower in a too sunny window.

And you came in to my picture. You came into the darkness and pulled me out. Or so I thought.

I had a crush on you. You were so smart, strong and funny. You were sweet and wonderful, it was easy to fall for you. I didn't even have to try. But you had a wife and I valued our friendship too much to say anything. Not that you couldn't see it written all over my face. I can say I never tried to take you from her. I am still her friend, though I still feel the shame bubbling up in my cheeks sometimes when I talk to her.

I worshiped you. I adored you. I loved you. I wrote so many poems in your honour, though I have often said I would not waste another verse on you. I say I will not waste another tear in your name.

I keep thinking back to when I told you that I had a crush on you. You said you had already known. I blushed because I couldn't believe I had been so obvious.

I told you that I wanted to have sex. You said you would ruin me for other men. I told you I wanted to be ruined. Sometimes when I think about that I know you ruined me anyway.

I can still feel your fingers tracing the soft part of my neck up to my ear and back down as I was trying to write that mythology I was creating. I had dedicated a character to you. The most beloved man created by the Gods and Goddesses of my world. I called you Zimri. How fitting that, in the Bible, Zimri is a traitor and the name itself means "my song" (Or mountain sheep, but that fits less perfectly.)

I remember how strongly I wanted to kiss you. I remember making you blush, twice, and marveling at my ability. I remember how badly I wanted you, while feeling the guilt creeping around the edges. Your wife. Your son and your daughter. Your life that I was so desperately wanting to be a part of.

I was seventeen, though, ____! You should've resisted me, should've told me no. Told me that it was inappropriate. Why didn't you? Was I Lolita, seducing you away from God and family?

I blame myself for inviting you to the prom. I blame myself for asking you to go with me. I wish I'd never gone. I wish I'd never said anything. But I wanted that experience. I wanted to experience prom, to experience a dance. It was my first dance and I was so excited to be dancing with you. I remember all the moves we created for "Beep" by the Pussycat Dolls. Sometimes, when I'm reminiscing, I play it. I dance and I think about you.

Sometimes I look at the pictures from that night. The night we stopped being friends. The night we became something more than friends, but less than lovers.

I abandoned you when you said you were leaving her. When you said you no longer believed in God. I was afraid, more than anything. And I was angry. I don't even know why I was so angry. I know I felt ashamed and betrayed for everything that happened between us. But that wasn't the reason I stopped talking to you. You had left me, now you were abandoning God and family. The whole time that I knew it could never be, even when I was hoping it would be, I prayed you would stay married. I prayed you would stay with your wife. I prayed I would forget you.

My prayers were for nothing. I still lost you.

The wound still aches every now and then. It still throbs. I still dream about you. I still miss you. I still love you. The truth of the matter is that I always will.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry I had to remove you from my life. I wish I hadn't, now. But where would we be? You wouldn't have come back to me. You wouldn't have fulfilled my dream. You couldn't. We couldn't

Some days, I admit, I still want you. I am comfortable admitting that. I wouldn't do anything now, because I am happily married, but I still wonder.

I think my problem is that I wonder if you still think about me. I just want to know that you miss me too. And I don't know why I want to know that. Do you ever think about me? Do you ever miss me? Do you ever want me still? I wish you would message me. Just once, let me know that you still love me like you said you always would. Even though we still can't be. Even though I shouldn't let you back in.

Darling, I miss you, but this is another in a series of confessions I've written on my way to letting you go. I won't e-mail you. I won't message you on Facebook. I won't try, though I want to sometimes. I will eventually come to terms with this.

In the meantime, I hope you are doing well. I hope you are happy and healthy. I hope all sorts of beautiful hopes for you.

Love,
Sarai

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.

Roulette

I
"It's a game." he said. "You'll love it."

"What kind of game?" she asked, eager to be accepted by this new boyfriend. She knew he didn't mean Monopoly. She knew that she should be wary. He was different, dangerously so.

His slightly pointed teeth glimmered in the light of a naked bulb. They were slightly pointed like a vampire's. He always wore colored contacts, she had never seen his real eyes. Tonight he was wearing a gory shade of red. They glinted in an evil, almost demonic, way as he produced a gun. His dangerous beauty and the silver etched pistol both frightened and aroused her.

"Have you ever played Russian Roulette?" he purred. Looking into his eyes it was easy to believe he was a demon, a modern Mephistopheles, come to seduce and murder her.

"Isn't that illegal?" she whispered, her voice quivering and her stomach turning to jelly.

"Of course. All the best things are." he said. "But for your first time we won't play with a real bullet."

He opened the chamber and slid the bullet into place. He spun it before snapping it closed. The snapping echoed in the heavy silence. She shivered, not sure if she should trust him. What if it was a real bullet? What if he had the chamber rigged? He smiled again, revealing his shiny white teeth, and she imagined him laughing over her still body.

He took a few steps back, his wicked grin never leaving his face. She smiled nervously as he put the muzzle to his temple. She braced for an impact that she wouldn't feel. His smile never wavered, turning manic as he positioned himself. He pulled the trigger, but nothing happened. Just a click. He laughed at the terror on her face, cajoling her with his eyes.

"Not afraid, are you, love?"

She straightened, stiffly, telling herself it was just a game and she wasn't a coward. But her stomach twisted and her bowels cramped as he handed her the gun.

"Cock it back like this," he said, showing her what to do. "when you are ready, pull the trigger. You can close your eyes if that'll help."

It was a little heavier than she had expected and she could feel her muscles bunch and strain to keep her hand from shaking.

"Don't be afraid." he said, nibbling on her earlobe. She tried to swallow, but her throat had closed. She felt her heart beat triple in speed. It pounded in her ears so that she could barely hear. He guided the muzzle to her temple, caressing her as he positioned her. He kissed her, a slow kiss that made her frantic. He pulled away before she could get a full grip on his leather jacket and positioned himself across from her.

Under the dimming bulb, she imagined that the bullet was real, that this would be the end of her. The end of everything. She gulped for air, feeling like her heart would burst through her chest. This was the moment. She would prove she was brave. She just had to make it through this test. That was all it was, a test.

"Pull the trigger, darling." he cooed, gently. She closed her eyes, bracing for an impact of some sort, and squeezed. The hammer clicked, but nothing happened. Her legs felt like water suddenly released from a dam and she collapsed with a rush of adrenaline and relief.

He was beside her in a moment, lifting her back up.

"It's quite the rush isn't it?" he asked, prying the gun from her stiff fingers.

"Yes. A real... rush." she murmured weakly.

"Let's play a variation," he said, his smile eerily painted across his face. "instead of holding the gun to your own head, aim it at me."

"Variation?" she gulped.

"Of course." he said. "All games have variations. Even this one. When I tell you to, pull the trigger. And this round we'll have a real bullet."

He opened the chamber, slipped out the false bullet and replaced it with a real one. He spun it, as before, and snapped it into the chamber. He smiled as he handed it to her.

He positioned himself about three feet away and winked at her.

"Pull the trigger."

II
The rush of a bullet wasn't enough. The rush of sex and death were no longer drug enough. She played Russian Roulette alone in the darkness of her apartment in front of a mirror. She sat in the darkness, every click like a shot of heroin into her blood. Sometimes she would masturbate, watching her reflection achieve orgasm to the click of the hammer.

It hadn't taken long for that boyfriend to end up dead from their little "game" and the police didn't need much convincing. All it took was a pretty young woman in a blood spattered white dress. She cried, genuinely, for that dangerously handsome idiot. Not because she loved him, but because she would have to find a new partner to play with.

She hadn't even waited for his body to cool before she seduced one of the officers at the scene. She begged him to point his loaded Centerfire Compact at her head during and she climaxed remembering her previous boyfriend's final words.

It hadn't taken long to become addicted to the rush. The heady mix of life and death, intertwined with lust and sex, was enough to pull her in and keep her. It hadn't taken long to discover that she could no longer enjoy life without a click inside her head.

It hadn't taken long for the clicks to no longer be enough. She couldn't sit in her room alone forever, waiting to lose to herself. She needed the rush with someone else. Another body to hit the floor. Another blood spattered dress.

She found him outside of a club.

"Want to play a game?" she asked, looking up through her lashes, luridly.

"What kind of game?" he asked, already succumbing to the 'come fuck me' look in her eyes.

And she showed him. She taught him how to play. She taught him how to die. He didn't like the variation she had been taught, too vanilla for that. They played the traditional way and she didn't even blink an eye when the bullet zipped through his temple and out the other side of his skull.

She had been very lucky so far. Every night she would kiss the bullet, placing it in the gun that had originally belonged to that dead boyfriend.

For her luck she praised Bes. She would plead with Shai that this next day she would continue to breathe. She called out to the Norns that they continue to weave her fate with that of luck. She praised Gefion for continuing to shine on her. She laughed when she blessed the name of Fortuna and cried when she asked the Moirai not to cut her threads. Luck and fate became her religion, the click of the hammer representing favors from the gods and every sexual encounter an addictive gift.

The latest pawn in this game kissed her breathless before he taught her another variation. He filled the chamber with four bullets. She kissed each one before he placed them. She agreed to sleep with him if they both survived the game.

That first time, with that first game, they had practically torn each other's clothes off; the need to feel alive overwhelming any other sense. She had cried then, as he slid into her and kissed her into a frenzy. It was the best she had ever had and she had wondered, as he followed her lead, at what cost? Now she didn't even think.

The need to feel that chemical rush was an animal waiting to tear out of her body. There was no thought, no feeling except the adrenaline and the climax.

She survived that variation. Her teacher was kind enough to die quietly in the basement of an abandoned warehouse. She kissed his lips before taking the gun and disappearing into the darkness of the night. She always played with the same gun.

The next pawn was a young woman, about her age, so naive and innocent. She taught her everything and let her walk away. The game didn't always have to end immediately after beginning. Sometimes it continued through the loose connections made. That other woman was not as lucky, they found her dead a week or so later, another unlucky victim of the game.

It really all came down to that moment, she would tell herself. The moment when she stood before the mirror and watched her face; imagining it imploding on itself.

"Pull the trigger."

III
"It's a game." she said. "You'll love it."

"What kind of game?" he asked, intrigued by the strangeness of her.

Her lips were dark red in the dim light of the alley. They reminded him of a mouthful of blood and they turned him on. It was cold outside, snow hanging on the edges of the clouds. Just glistening gray, waiting to fall. Her look was full of lust, when she produced a silver etched pistol. Her eyes glittered in the light of the street lamps. Her eerie smile and the pistol, both, frightened and aroused him.

Her smile widened, revealing shiny white teeth, slightly pointed like a vampire's. Just one bullet was no longer enough. There were so many variations to explore, so many rushes to be had. This would be the last variation. There would be no coming back from this one. No greater rush than this, knowing that her life stood precariously on a hidden ledge. This would be the last round, all the chambers filled but one. The very last rush with someone's life about to end in the darkness.

"Have you ever played Russian Roulette?"

All of Her: Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-Two

I don't go back to the apartment. Not even to pack everything when I find someone to take over my lease. I move in with Clark for a short time, unable to face the sympathy in my mother's face or the overwhelming sadness when I'm alone.

"Until you get back on your feet." he says, as he helps Noah and Kevin carry my stuff into his spare room. I sit in the middle of a pile of boxes, my knees pulled up to my chest and staring out the window. I stay like this for several days before Clark drags me out of the apartment for dinner. I have taken up smoking French cigarettes since Annabelle's death. Before we eat, I insist on standing outside the restaurant for a little while swallowing lungfuls of poison. Clark doesn't try to stop me, though he clearly wants to. Maybe he believes I'll stop on my own. Maybe he doesn't think it is his place to tell me what I should and shouldn't do.

I eat sparingly, much to his chagrin. When he thinks I'm not looking he slips an extra spoonful of whatever onto my plate. I, in turn, pretend not to notice this growing mound of uneaten food and continue to push it around my plate. He tries to engage me in conversation, but I have nothing to say. Nothing that I want to say. Nothing that I could bear to say. He eventually gives up and takes me back to his apartment.

Once we are inside I kiss him. He resists at first, but I know he hasn't had a steady girlfriend since me. I need the contact. And, in the end, he doesn't refuse. He is as gentle as he has ever been, but it doesn't really matter. I am too numb to really feel the difference between gentle and violent. I don't even orgasm, though I fake it splendidly. I didn't want to, I just wanted to feel something, skin on skin. Feel someone inside of me, a part of me.

While Clark is at work, I visit her grave. I lie beside her, watching the clouds chase the sun across the sky. I talk to her as though she was alive. I smoke. I watch mourners and lollygaggers march like ants through the cemetery. Loud wails and badly sung hymns become normality to me. I don't eat or even cry anymore. I just sit and smoke. I strain my ears for anything that may come from the corpse lying beside me. I have lost all sense of reason.

It is on one such day that Jae finds me. I don't see him, puffing on my cigarette completely zoned out. It isn't until he is next to me that I realize someone is there. He sits down and rests his elbows on his knees.

"When did you take that up?" he asks, nodding toward my cigarette.

"Maybe I've always smoked." I reply, taking another drag.

"You have never smelled like smoke and you never take a break to smoke when you are at the bar."

"You are observant." I say, mockingly. I stub out my cigarette and lay back on the grass. He lays back as well, propping his head up with his hands. "But maybe I am just really good at hiding it."

He just shakes his head, then turns to look at me. His eyes search my face, for what I'm not sure.

"Why are you here?" he asks.

"Because I have no where else to go." I say, simply. I have lost my job at the book store, though my boss said she would gladly take me back once my life gets "straightened out." I have lost Annabelle. I have lost my sanity. I have lost my self-respect. I have lost my hope.

"You could come with me." he says, sitting back up. His back has grass clinging to it and he runs a hand through his hair to dislodge the tiny pieces stuck there. He never seems to smile anymore, I wonder if I have destroyed him like I seem to be destroying everything else. He stands up, dusts off his backside and turns to me, one hand outstretched to help me up.

I don't take his hand, in fact I lie there and pretend to not see him. I stare into the endless sky, pretending I am on a cloud drifting away from everything here. This doesn't stop him. He continues to stand there, one hand outstretched. He looks like God reaching out to mankind, but I am too lazy to reach back. Isn't that the way of religion?

I don't know how long he stays there, waiting for me to acknowledge him. I don't sit up until he has given up and walking away. I stand then thinking I might follow him, maybe try to take back everything. Maybe I could make the attempt. He stops, as if he senses my conundrum, turns and looks at me. He let's a small smile float upon his Cupid's bow lips.

I turn away, though. I know the smile has faded as quickly as it appeared and I can't stand to think that it is my fault. I run to my car, careening like a drunkard on roller-skates. I go to a tiny bar a couple miles from the cemetery. The owners are capitalists, profiting from grief. They have a small dance floor, flashing lights and eclectic taste in music. I drink a shot of tequila to quiet the storm inside me and then I dance until my heart threatens to burst. I feel as though I was buried alive, though I am too tired to fight for air.

I drive slowly back to Clark's apartment. I feel like I am a wound rubbed with salt until I am raw. I park the car in the lot of the complex and I sit there, my cheek resting against the steering wheel. I stare out the window and wonder why I even wanted Annabelle. I wonder why she has such a hold on me, even though she is gone. It doesn't matter, because I can't ever have her. She has been eternally lost to me. I couldn't save her. I can't even save myself, what made me think I should try?

I pull myself from the car, feeling like I'm crawling away from the wreck of my life. I don't go into the apartment. Instead I wander the streets, chain smoking my fancy cigarettes, looking for something, anything. I don't even know what I'm looking for. I catch a glimpse of myself in a window, it makes me stop. I hardly recognize this reflection of myself, she is so different from the girl I used to be. A cigarette hangs from her mouth, her shoulders are hunched as though she were curling into herself. Her hands are stuffed into the pockets of her jacket and her hair is a dull blonde  in a mess of a chignon. Her eyes hold so much sorrow that I can't look her full in the face. It is hard to believe that this woman is me. We are nothing alike.

She looks worn from all the self-imposed tragedies, all the self-inflicted wounds. They aren't visible on the surface, but we both know they are there. I shake my head at her, she does the same. I pull the cigarette from my mouth and watch as she does the same. I touch the glass, but immediately recoil from her and begin to run. For a moment it was Annabelle in the glass and Abra had disappeared completely.

I run until I am too out of breath to continue. When I stop, I collapse to the sidewalk and cry. No one notices, no one stops to ask what is wrong. Its like I've already disappeared. I've become an invisible speed bump on a sidewalk.

He grabs my hands from my face and pulls me up and into his arms. I don't even have to look up. I know who it is. I just cry, two invisible people adrift in a sea of endless faces. He takes me to a cafe and orders a white chocolate mocha for me. He looks terrified as he presses the cup into my shaking hands. Its like he has seen a ghost or maybe he has seen what I've really become.

"Why is it," I say, once I have stopped sobbing and have taken a sip of my drink. "that you always know where to find me? Always know when I need rescuing?"

He smiles, a watery one compared to when we first met. He takes a sip of his drink and reaches across the table to hold one of my hands. His eyes dart across my face, searching for something.

"I don't know where to find you." He says, simply. He shrugs slightly and takes another sip of his drink. "Have you ever heard Plato's explanation of soul mates?"

"That we were once multi-limbed and Zeus split us in half?"

"Yes. Maybe it is that you and I are soul mates. My ability to find you again and again is because you draw me to you. Because you are my other face, the other half that makes me whole."

"Do you honestly believe that?" I ask, looking at our entwined hands.

"You asked for an explanation."

"You could be stalking me." I say, maliciously. I don't believe he is, but I am beginning to feel like a rabid dog, attacking anything near me. He is quiet, not defending himself. I'm not sure if that should make me nervous or not. After a few moments I mumble an apology for being so rude. He still doesn't say anything, his hand still holding mine.

We are quiet for a while, him still holding my hand. I don't resist, I don't try to pull away.

"Sometimes," he says, quietly, not looking at me. "when I run into you, I think I have found my other face. I think I've been lead to you by the half of my soul that begs to be whole. You won't let me in, however and then I begin to think that I am just in a dream. Dreams can be so deceiving when you believe you are awake."

He pauses a moment and then looks up at me, his eyes sparkling and dancing to some music I do not hear.

"I so want you to be my other face, Abra. The little time that I have spent with you has only made me want to spend more with you. I don't want to just sleep with you and then let you go. I couldn't. I want you to be with me, I want us to be whole, be one, and not broken anymore. I want you. I want to help you. Help you save yourself from this spiral you are in."

"I'm not worth saving. You should save yourself the pain and get out now, while you still can."

"I'm too far in to escape now." he says, taking a sip of his drink. He looks at me then, staring into my eyes until I am forced to look away. He grabs my other hand and holds them, gently, on the table. "Let me decide whether the pain I may or may not experience is worth it. You are worth saving, stop saying you aren't. Let me in, Abra."

"You'll be sorry you even tried." I say, pulling my hands out of his grasp. I stand up, thank him for the coffee and walk out of the cafe. I light a cigarette and puff angrily, determined to make us both as miserable as possible.

I return to the apartment to find it empty. There is a note from Clark that I don't read. I dress up and even use make-up. I style my hair for the first time in a long time. I stare at the girl I've become with a grim determination, a grim appreciation. She tries to smile at me, but I turn before she can. If I see her smile, I will break down, because it will be a broken smile. I am determined. It is too late to turn back from what I've become. I'm in too deep now.

I sleep with the first man that flirts with me at the bar. I don't resist as he leads me to his car. We go twice before he leaves me, standing in front of the bar and waiting for the next one. I drink until I can't see straight. I have sex with two more men and a cute girl with small breasts. I go home with her.

When I wake up in the morning it feels as if I have melted, like the Wicked Witch in Oz. I look over and cannot, for the life of me, remember the girl's name. She is pretty, her hair in tiny spirals, in varying colors, all over her head. Her skin is the color of dark chocolate and I feel terribly pale comparatively. I strain, but my brain refuses to remember anything about her or the other three I slept with last night. I can't even remember what the men looked like.

She stirs and I pretend I am asleep. She snuggles closer to me and sighs, softly.

"I know you're awake." she mumbles into my breast. I open one eye and glance down at her. She nuzzles me and looks up.

"You can't remember my name can you?" she says. I shake my head slowly.

"I'm sorry," I say.

"Don't be," she says. "I wasn't expecting you to remember it anyway. You were quite wasted last night. So was I, now that I think about it. As it is, I barely remember your's."

"Abra." I say.

"Niya Bin." she says. "Short, and slightly distorted, for Vanilla Bean."

"Your parents named you Vanilla Bean?" I ask, stifling a giggle.

"Well, my mother loved the scent of vanilla and the way the word felt on her tongue. And my father thought it would be hilarious because of our last name being Bean. I have two sisters, so my father had a grand time naming us."

"What are their names?" I ask, my hand curling around one of her breasts.

"Coffee and Greene. Greene is the only one who can go by her first name in public. No one laughs until she says her full name. Coffee is like me and goes by a shortened, and slightly distorted, version." She laughs and mimics my hand movements, a hand curling around one of my breasts. She kisses me then, tasting like lavender and ginger.

We kiss for awhile, hands fluttering up and down each other's skin. Exploration begins in earnest and before we know it we are entangled. As we writhe, I think of Jae and having two faces. I look deep into Niya's amber eyes, searching her face as though I should recognize it as my own. Does Jae recognize me as part of him? Does he really believe that I could be his other face?

I thought David was my other half, the piece of a puzzle that made me whole. Without him, what was the point? He was my soul mate, my other face as Jae put it. At least, I thought so. But we can see where my thinking has gotten me, so far. I want to let Jae in, but I'm afraid. I'm afraid of being hurt again, afraid of being used again. Afraid of being in love with someone who sees me as a want not a need.

This whole situation, everything with Annabelle and my subsequent decent into madness, has shown me something. What was the point of all this? A revenge taken against my body, though my body wasn't the one at fault. A revenge against myself for being deceived? I haven't hurt David at all. I may have hurt Alice, the once, with my sleeping with her husband. Otherwise I haven't hurt anyone but myself. I realize that isn't true either. I have hurt all those around me, that love me and have tried to help me. You can't hold a knife to your own skin without cutting everyone around you.

I want to stop now. I want to find Abra again. I want to find out who I am after all this mess.

I finish with Niya, but I don't stay long. I kiss her goodbye and thank her for everything, before hailing a cab and returning to Clark's.

When I get there Clark is pacing. When he looks up he let's out a small sigh of relief and hugs me.

"What's wrong?" I say, slightly muffled by his chest.

"I was worried." he says, simply. Gently, I push away so that I can look at him.

"I'll be fine, now." I smile, kiss his cheek and collapse on the couch to sleep.

Instead of sleeping, however, I begin to think. Jae is drawn to me, but how am I to find him when I don't know if I'm drawn to him or not? He seemed so sure that we were meant to be together, at least for a time, but will my insecurities make it harder to find him?

Can you fall in love with someone just because you want to? It seemed so effortless when I loved David or Annabelle. There was no thought, nothing. I was in love. Is wanting to be in love with someone enough? Is wanting Jae enough to erase all the feelings still left in me for others?

Looking back on it, I remember how David and I began to forget the little things in our relationship. We didn't talk like we used to. We stopped randomly smiling at one another. We stopped communicating. We talked, but it was all bubblegum pop, nothing substantial, nothing real. I wonder if he ever thinks about those times when we genuinely seemed to love each other. I wonder if he ever misses those times, if any of them were even real. Its terrifying, actually, to even begin to think of trusting someone that much again, of putting myself out there like that again.

Is it worth it?

The Face of Zeus

In the beginning, we had four arms, four legs and two faces. When Zeus saw us he became afraid of our power. He split us asunder so that we had two arms, two legs and one face. Ever since we have searched for our other face, the other half of what once was whole. We search the whole world for our Soul Mate, the other half to a soul split by a jealous god. Our other half. Our other face.

Perhaps the reason Zeus was so afraid was because two faces can see more than one. Four eyes searching his flaws as a deity, silently criticizing and questioning his every act as God. Its interesting, really, to think about how frightened one god became of his "creation."

An Experiment

In her song, "Xizi She Knows," Imogen Heap says something that resonates with me every time.

You're pretty damn good as you are.
That is something that seems to get lost in the shuffle of things sometimes. Like romantic relationships or friendships. We are never made to believe that we are "damn good" as we are. We are, in fact, made to believe that we aren't good enough. Ever. Because we aren't beautiful. Because we aren't smart enough. Because we aren't what someone wants.

Xizi, she knows, that once its gone, then its gone.
I think that is a metaphor for being damn good as you are. Once you change for someone else and you completely lose yourself, its gone. You may get back some modicum of what you were, but you'll never be fully YOU again. You've lost it. You've let it go.

You may be wondering what this has to do with the title of this blog, but bear with me a moment.

I talked about being hit on, in my last blog. About not being hit on because I'm intelligent or well-read (which, as Donnie pointed out, is never the reason anyone is hit on), but because I have rather large breasts and a so-so face (at least, in my opinion). About how it must be freeing to be completely covered, so that someone has no choice but to get to know you for who you are, instead of how you look.

Can you imagine, for a moment, what it would be like for no one to think your hair is a mess or your make-up is wrong? Or that you aren't wearing the latest styles, your butt is too big or too flat? Can imagine how nice that would be? Not to feel the pressure to please with skin and fashion?

I was talking to Donnie about it and he suggested I try it. Though, he did say he thinks I'll get ignored more than anything.

He suggested I try being covered and then write about the experience. And I think I'm going to do it. It falls into my desire to experiment with different religions as well. I am both excited and trepidatious.

Pros:
1. I'll get to experience a culture other than my own. One that I actually know a fair bit about.

2. I can write about the experiences, because I'll have a rather constant inspiration.

3. My husband supports me in whatever I choose to do.

Cons:
1. The last time I dressed as an Islamic woman (back when I was in high school) I brought the Klan out of hiding.

2. This experiment may have serious ramifications regarding my job, my social life and my family life.

3. I am really shy, so I may very well not gain anything from this experiment except heartache from all the ignorance and stupidity around me.

'Tis better to try and to fail, than to never try at all. How will I know what happens until I try it? Well, I can't. I can't know what will happen or who I will meet unless I try it.

This experiment will take preparation. Partially because I do not currently own a burqa, niqab, hijab or any other such covering. Partially because I need to define the boundaries for myself and a time frame. This experiment is going to take longer than a week or two. And partially, because this is going to take my full concentration and desire. I can't go into this experiment half-heartedly. I have to be fully behind it and fully invested before it will work.

In the meantime, I think I should do some more research into Islam. I need to re-read the Qur'an. I need to slowly wean myself away from Alcohol... Unfortunately. I need to re-read the Bible. If you are wondering about that please refer to my blog "The Christianity/Islam Dichotomy" (which you can find at the following link: http://saraicrazyblog.blogspot.com/2011/12/christianityislam-dichotomy.html). And I need to re-affirm who I am.

I am still searching for who I am, in the midst of all the insanity that is called Life. I am still young, so I have time to figure it out. Maybe this will change me. Maybe this experience will change who and what I am. Maybe it won't. I guess I won't find out until I do it.

I feel like I'm rambling a little so I will stop for now. Expect updates sometime in the near (or far) future.

Something to Say

Someone said to me once that I am beautiful. That I am beautiful and that is why people hit on me all the time. You know who you are and I'm going to tell you something very important.

I partially want to be Muslim because I would have an excuse to be covered. I would have an excuse to ignore my body and my face. I envy women who choose to cover themselves. It must be so freeing to not be constantly judged by your face and your weight, how large your breasts are and how much skin you show.

You know why the few people that hit on me do? Because I have large breasts. Sad, but true. No one tries to go out with me because I am intelligent or well read. No one tries to talk to me because I enjoy the theatre or writing. They come over and "hit on" me because I have large breasts and because I am heavier set. They think because of these things I'll sleep with them. I am overweight so I must have ridiculously low self-esteem (which I do, but that is beside the point). I have large breasts so I must be a slut.

If I was covered, no one would take me at face value. Anyone who talked to me would have to ACTUALLY talk to me. Get to know me, not my body. Get to know what's in my head, not what's on it.

So, darling, the truth isn't that I'm beautiful. The truth is that God/Allah/Buddha/Krishna/whomever gave me a large chest and unfortunately that is all I'll ever be to some people. Its not always a compliment to be hit on.

Obama 2012

Reasons why I am going to vote for Obama again:

1. Romney doesn't care about the poor. He then rephrases and says that we have a safety net. Excuse me, I'm ridiculously poor. I live hand to mouth most of the time. Where is my safety net? I don't qualify for most help because I am not pregnant or disabled. Where is my net?

2. Gingrich wants to colonize on the moon. We have enough problems here on Earth. The Moon belongs to God/Allah/Buddha/Whomever, not America. Not any country. We have no right to go and destroy it with our stupidity. Also, there are thousands of starving people in America that we could feed with the amount of money it would take to colonize the moon.

3. Santorum believes that sex is solely for procreation, nothing else. He believes that higher education challenges faith. He believes that Church and State should not be separate. He says that his wife had a life-saving "induced miscarriage" which is ABORTION and then says that women don't have that right, even if it could save their lives. Even though she had one to save hers. I could go on, but really, Santorum?

4. Obama has at least attempted to do what he said he would. Its not his fault that Congress has all the power (which it does, because that is what the Founding Fathers wanted) and they aren't into sharing.

5. All these people who say that we are intelligent and then say that Obama hasn't shown his birth certificate. You just called us idiots, because clearly there is NO process or anything. Come on, people use the brain that God/Allah/Buddha/Whomever gave you!

6. Because who cares if he is Muslim or not? Where in the constitution does it say he has to be a God-fearing Christian? Last I checked, it said nothing about that. And as far as that goes Thomas Jefferson was an Atheist. I don't hear anyone complaining about that.

7. I care about my rights as a woman. I'd like to get equal pay for equal work. I'd like to have access to Birth Control. I'd like to have the option to abort, if I have to.

8. Because I can't look at my friends and my family that are Homosexual and say "I'm sorry, but you don't deserve to be married, just because you are Homosexual. You don't deserve that happiness, even though you are another human being who wants Life, Love and the Pursuit of Happiness."

9. Because I am realistic to know that this country has been going down for much longer than he has been in the Oval Office and it will take longer than you and I will live to see it get better. We can't, realistically, expect him to undo 20 years of crap in four years. That's just not possible. For anyone.

10. Because I still believe in the Change. And I still believe he is a good man for the job.

Disagree if you like, say that I'm wrong. But if you really dig deep, really do your research and check your sources you'll see that I'm not that far off. I will admit to not being right all the time. I'm human and I make mistakes. Oh yeah, and Barack Obama is human too.

Sarai for Obama 2012.

Walk the Plank with Eyes wide open.

200: My middle name is: Elizabeth
199: I was born in: Palo Alto California
198: I am really: Tired
197: My cellphone company is: AT&T (unfortunately)
196: My eye color is: Brown/Black, depending on mood.
195: My shoe size is: 11
194: My ring size is: 10
193: My height is: 5'1"
192: I am allergic to: Corn, Rice, Shellfish (most recently discovered), bee stings and numerous antibiotics...
191: My 1st car was: 1985 Fleetwood Brougham Cadillac
190: My 1st job was: Cleaning houses
189: Last book you read: "Before I go to Sleep"
188: My bed is: on my right.
187: My pet: is currently non-existent
186: My best friend: my husband
185: My favorite shampoo is: Anything by Suave
184: AIM name: Is non-existent, because I don't have AIM
183: Piggy banks are: AWESOME! Especially if it is a Vampire Pig Piggy Bank, like mine :D
182: In my pockets: is lint.
181: On my calendar: I have nothing circled
180: Marriage is: wonderful, if it is to the right person.
179: Spongebob can: be my best friend!! I love that yellow sponge!
178: My mom: is one of my best friends and I cherish her.
177: The last three cd's I bought were? Lungs by Florence and the Machine, Josh Groban by Josh Groban and Awake by Josh Groban (those last two were purchased almost four years ago... I don't buy cds often...)
176: Last YouTube video watched: Happy Wheels Let's Play... Unfortunately. Thanks to my wonderful husband...
175: How many cousins do you have? If we count just first cousins, I have 6. If we get into all my other cousins I quickly lose count...
174: Do you have any siblings? I have 11. 4 adopted older siblings, my brother, my half-sister and 5 half-siblings that who died before seeing the sun.
173: Are your parents divorced? Yes.
172: Are you taller than your mom? Not anymore.
171: Do you play an instrument? I used to play the recorder. I now am able to pick out small pieces of random songs on the piano.
170: What did you do yesterday? Bought some Christmas presents.

[ I Believe In ]
169: Love at first sight: No. I believe in LUST at first sight. But not love.
168: Luck: Yes. And I have horrific luck.
167: Fate: Yes.
166: Yourself: Not really.
165: Aliens: No.
164: Heaven: Not as much as I used to.
163: Hell: Yes. Earth is hell.
162: God: I believe in A god, not necessarily any specific god, however.
161: Horoscopes: Not really, though they are fun to read.
160: Soul mates: Yes.
159: Ghosts: Yes.
158: Gay Marriage: Yes. Everyone has the right to be married. No matter if they are gay or straight.
157: War: No.
156: Orbs: I'm not sure what those are...
155: Magic: I wish I did.

[ This or That ]
154: Was there supposed to be a question here?
153: Drunk or High: Drunk.
152: Phone or Online: Phone.
151: Red heads or Black haired: Red heads! Though, I do like both.
150: Blondes or Brunettes: Brunettes.
149: Hot or cold: Hot. I can always take off clothes. I can only put so many on however...
148: Summer or winter: Summer.
147: Autumn or Spring: Autumn.
146: Chocolate or vanilla: Vanilla.
145: Night or Day: Night. Easier to see the moon.
144: Oranges or Apples: Oranges. They don't hurt my teeth.
143: Curly or Straight hair: Curly. I wonder why that could be? lol.
142: McDonald's or Burger King: McDonald's. Though I should say neither...
141: White Chocolate or Milk Chocolate: White Chocolate.
140: Mac or PC: PC.
139: Flip flops or high heals: Flip flops all the way!!
138: Ugly and rich OR Sexy and poor: Sexy and Poor. Just like my hubby. :P
137: Coke or Pepsi: Coke!
136: Hillary or Obama: Obama.
135: Buried or cremated: Neither.
134: Singing or Dancing:
133: Coach or Chanel:
132: Katherine McPhee or Taylor Hicks: Katherine McPhee
131: Small town or Big city: Small town
130: Wal-Mart or Target: Wal-Mart
129: Ben Stiller or Adam Sandler: Neither.
128: Manicure or Pedicure: Neither.
127: East Coast or West Coast: West Coast
126: Your Birthday or Christmas: My Birthday
125: Chocolate or Flowers: Flowers
124: Disney or Six Flags: Six Flags
123: Yankees or Red Sox: Neither. I don't give two shits about baseball.

[ Here's What I Think About ]
122: War: It is horrific and often completely pointless. I thank all those who fight for my so called "freedoms", however you should be at home fighting against corrupt politicians rather than dying thousands of miles away.
121: George Bush: is an idiot who fucked up our economy.
120: Gay Marriage: should be legalized, because it is MARRIAGE. If two people love each other they should have the right to be married. And this whole debate about it is fucking ridiculous and unconstitutional. Everyone has the right to Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness. If your happiness is being Gay, than you should have the right to pursue it!
119: The presidential election: is coming soon and I don't know who I'm voting for.
118: Abortion: is okay in certain situations. However, I generally am pro-life.
117: MySpace: is obsolete.
116: Reality TV: is stupid.
115: Parents: are there to take care of us, though sometimes they fail. Miserably.
114: Back stabbers: are the worst.
113: Ebay: is something I'm not into.
112: Was there supposed to be something here?
111: Work: is necessary, but not always fun.
110: My Neighbors: are annoying when they've been drinking.
109: Gas Prices: are too high.
108: Designer Clothes: aren't worth the designer prices.
107: College: is where I'd like to be next year.
106: Sports: are okay, but I don't have time to be interested right now.
105: My family: is dysfunctional, crazy, fun, spastic and wonderful.
104: The future: is dim.

[ Last time I ]
103: Hugged someone: was fifteen minutes ago.
102: Last time you ate: was fifteen minutes ago.
101: Saw someone I haven't seen in awhile: Yesterday!
100: Cried in front of someone: Last night.
99: Went to a movie theater: July
98: Took a vacation: September
97: Swam in a pool: Last year?
96: Changed a diaper: May
95: Got my nails done: Never.
94: Went to a wedding: September. (Attending my own counts, right?)
93: Broke a bone: Two years ago.
92: Got a piercing: Actually, I've never had a piercing, though my husband is paying for me to get my ears done as my Christmas present.
91: Broke the law: Earlier today... I didn't put on my seat belt.
90: Texted: 7:32PM

[ MISC ]
89: Who makes you laugh the most: Donnie.
88: Something I will really miss when I leave home is: My bed!
87: The last movie I saw: was some Bleach movie that I only watched to please my brother.
86: The thing that I'm looking forward to the most: is the beginning of a new year.
85: The thing I'm not looking forward to: is moving. Again.
84: People call me: Crazy.
83: The most difficult thing to do is: to admit you're wrong.
82: I have gotten a speeding ticket: Never.
81: My zodiac sign is: Libra.
80: The first person I talked to today was: my hubby.
79: First time you had a crush: I was two and I told my mother that I was going to marry Elvis Presley when I grew up. Unfortunately I was born in '88 and Elvis was long gone by then.
78: The one person who I can't hide things from: my friend, Sarah Jo.
77: Last time someone said something you were thinking: Last night.
76: Right now I am talking to: No one.
75: What are you going to do when you grow up: be a linguistic literature translator?
74: I have/will get a job: at Sam's club doing demos.
73: Tomorrow: I have to work.
72: Today: I worked.
71: Next Summer: I want to be thinner and preparing for school.
70: Next Weekend: I work.
69: I have these pets: non-existent.
68: The worst sound in the world: is nails on a chalkboard.
67: The person that makes me cry the most is: myself.
66: People that make you happy: Donnie, Sarah Jo, my brother, my mom, my friends!!
65: Last time I cried: Last night. Unfortunately.
64: My friends are: wonderful.
63: My computer is: annoying sometimes.
62: My School: is going to be IU
61: My Car: is a 1988 Chevy Astro Van.
60: I lose all respect for people who: have double standards.
59: The movie I cried at was: A lot of them?
58: Your hair color is: black/brown, aka: my natural hair color currently...
57: TV shows you watch: none right now.
56: Favorite web site: Facebook
55: Your dream vacation: Ireland in the fall.
54: The worst pain I was ever in was: right after my car accident. A shatter pelvis, shattered leg and miscellaneous injuries. Not to even mention the emotional trauma/pain of losing my car.
53: How do you like your steak cooked: Well.
52: My room is: quickly filling up with presents.
51: My favorite celebrity is: currently Lee Jun-ki
50: Where would you like to be: In bed with my husband, sleeping.
49: Do you want children: Not anymore. It doesn't matter. After the wreck I was told not to have children.
48: Ever been in love: Yes.
47: Who is your best friend: Didn't I answer this already?
46: More guy friends or girl friends: Currently? Girl friends... and it is fucking WEIRD! I've always had more guy friends.
45: One thing that makes you feel great is: when Donnie kisses me.
44: One person that you wish you could see right now: My Memere. I want to tell her all the things I didn't get to before she died.
43: Do you have a 5 year plan: Sure?
42: Have you made a list of things to do before you die: Yeppers.
41: Have you pre-named your children: I did have all their names picked out. Now I guess I'll use them in stories instead.
40: Last person I got mad at: This bitch at Wal-Mart who got super shitty with me for no reason.
39: I would like to move to: Sweden!! :D
38: I wish I was a professional: writer.

[ My Favorites ]
37: Candy: Banana Reese's Peanut Butter Cups.
36: Vehicle: Cadillac and a Dodge Charger...
35: President: John Quincy Adams
34: State visited: Wisconsin
33: Cellphone provider: I don't have a favorite. They all suck.
32: Athlete: Michael Jordan
31: Actor: Cary Grant and Wentworth Miller
30: Actress: Keira Knightley
29: Singer: Gackt.
28: Band: The Beatles
27: Clothing store: Maurice's
26: Grocery store: Wal-Mart
25: TV show: Remington Steele and Case Closed
24: Movie: Inception
23: Website: StumbleUpon
22: Animal: Horse, Lion
21: Theme park: Holiday World
20: Holiday: Labor Day
19: Sport to watch: Football
18: Sport to play: Soccer
17: Magazine: TV Guide
16: Book: Daughter of the Blood by Anne Bishop
15: Day of the week: Saturday
14: Beach: A tiny one I visited while I was in Florida.
13: Concert attended: Don Francisco... That's really the only one...
12: Thing to cook: Homemade Pancakes
11: Food: Waffles
10: Restaurant: O'Charley's
9: Radio station: B97
8: Yankee candle scent: Almond Cookie and Fresh Cut Roses
7: Perfume: Crush: Blue
6: Flower: White Rose
5: Color: Blood Red.
4: Talk show host: Regis Philbin.
3: Comedian: Eddie Izzard
2: Dog breed: Doberman Pincer
1: Are you ready for this survey to be over? Yes?

Dear Santa,

Dear Santa,
Is it wrong that I feel the way that I do? Is it so wrong that I still feel this way, after years. I've tried to wipe it out with hate and anguish. The anguish remains, but I'm too tired to hate anymore. I'm just sadly angry and angrily sad. Is it fair to feel this way? Should I try to squash it?

Do you know what I want most for Christmas, Santa? I want a family again. I want my grandfather, Memere, Pepere, grandma Bobbi, my dad, I even want Wes and his family back. Just to feel like we were a family again. Just to feel the illusion of love, even for a few moments. Is that wrong? Is it wrong to want even the illusion of it again?

But if Wes wanted to be a father, he should've tried harder. If he wanted to be a part of my life he should've tried. I shouldn't have to go to him to make things work. He should've acted like an adult.

I am my mother's daughter first. I am his daughter second.
I am my brother's sister first. I am his daughter second.
If he couldn't love my mother any longer, couldn't tolerate my brother any longer than he no longer loved or tolerated me. They are a part of me and I am a part of them. I really did love him at one point.

If Carolyn wanted to be my grandmother she should've tried to love my mother, love my brother. She should've tried harder, but I suppose she didn't know how. But that isn't my fault.

I am my mother's daughter first. I am her granddaughter second.
I am my brother's sister first. I am her granddaughter second.
If she can't accept and love them, then she can't accept and love me. And the saddest thing is that I really did love her. Looked up to her. But I can't tolerate her talking shit about my mother. I won't stand for anyone to talk shit about my mother or my brother or my sister.

Mom, Chris and Hannah are almost all I have really. I have several other relatives, but none that I see on a regular basis. And my mother's husband, Mark, is a nice enough man, but he isn't my father. He never will be. He will always be a nice man that my mother is married to. And I'm okay with that. I'm okay with him just being a friend.

I want acceptance for Christmas. I want to believe that Wes actually cared once. Or maybe I don't, because then I'll just blame myself for him not caring any longer.

I'd like to not be so pathetic that I can't sleep because I'm thinking about everything that is wrong. I'd like to not be so hung up on missing people that don't care about me. People who don't even think about me, even though I can't stop thinking about them.

I really just want peace on earth, I guess.

But you aren't any more real than the unicorns and mermaids I claim to believe in. You can't solve my problems anymore than I can. And if there is a God, he has long since stopped listening to me. I suppose this is where I should end this then. What's the point, Santa?

If I say I've been a really good girl this year, will that make any difference?

If I say that I've really tried this year, will that make any difference?

I hate you. I truly do. I hate you for not being real. I hate you for being a childhood principality that can't exist in this world. I hate that this is how everything has worked out.

I am too tired to hate you. I'm too tired to hate anyone, anymore.

Sarai.

Video Games anyone?

Yep, I've been distracted by Dragon Age II... My bad! Oh well, I hadn't been playing video games for a while there. I think it is okay to take a little break and actually enjoy myself... Maybe?

My head hurts, my stomach hurts. My whole body aches. And I have two more days of work to look forward to.

Have been looking into buying a house. Yes, friends, a house. With a mortgage and a yard. A little house or a duplex. Haven't decided yet. But we are looking into it. May have found one that we could live with/in. Still hoping to move to Sweden, though we are hoping to go ahead and get a house now and then save (in-between mortgage payments) for a place overseas. The sad thing is, it will be cheaper paying on a mortgage than it will be to keep renting. *shrug*

Is it wrong that I want to start writing little bits of fan-fiction again? Donnie says I'm a dork and that fan-fiction is objectively bad, no matter how well you write it. But I still kind of want to write it again. Especially since I'm playing video games lately.

A BioShock fan-fiction or Dragon Age (II)... Or maybe I'll just stick with silly J-Rock/K-Pop fairy tales... I don't know. Maybe I won't do it at all, but its something I feel the urge to do. Maybe I should do it for the sake of just writing...

I am hoping to apply for college next month *fingers crossed*

The plan is, currently, to double major in Linguistics and English Literature. With the hope that one day (when I have a degree) I can translate works of fiction and non-fiction into various languages so that everyone can enjoy the beauty of literature and reading. That's my dream anyway. I don't know how it will be trying to double major. That is going to suck, mightily. But I am determined! I don't want to be a demo lady at Sam's Club forever!

Plus, this would enable me to continue to write AND read! Maybe I will make it through that massive book list I have going?

I should really go and do laundry now, though I am not looking forward to it. I desperately miss having a washer and dryer!! I never knew how inconvenient it was to have to go out to do your laundry! How can people stand it? I certainly can't!

Have been having interesting conversations about religion with one of my co-workers who is Muslim. I don't know what to think about that either. I think he just wants me to believe in something, versus believing in nothing. But it is hard to explain to him that for years I have felt utterly abandoned by God (the gods/goddesses) and that my life hasn't changed from when I followed Him (or her) with utter abandon. My mother says that God is proofing me for the years to come. That I am being tested so that I can help others through the same things.

I think that is bullshit (Sorry, Mom). I really do. Do I have to go through every horrible thing to be able to sympathize with others? That seems stupid to me. I'm obviously not going to go through everything there is to go through and there are always going to be people who are going through something different from me. I can be sympathetic and there for someone without having to go through it myself!

Granted, the list of tragedies and atrocities is long in my short life. But I seriously doubt that whomever exists out there is keeping track just so I can "minister" to someone later.

I also hate the holidays. They are never very happy for me. And I wish we could skip over them. I do appreciate the break from work, however, so I suppose that is something.

I am rambling, skipping from topic to topic... Oh well. You guys love me anyway right?

Enough randomness for now,
love,
Sarai