tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19078970201392318142023-11-16T01:22:34.332-05:00Peripetei∀pair-ih-peh-TAY-uh. What is life if not an unscripted ∀dventure?Stephaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00008080252448136454noreply@blogger.comBlogger651125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1907897020139231814.post-61262323129987536742017-07-12T10:58:00.001-04:002017-07-12T10:58:31.658-04:00The Mold of MannersWe've been watching the old TV show <i>Poirot. </i>A brilliant, stout, impeccably polite detective (the Belgian Hercule Poirot) finds himself around complicated murders and proceeds to solve them through observation and conversation. He is the epitome of class, good manners, and gentle dry humor, and if he weren't an old guy, I'd have a crush on him. He's like a favorite uncle that I want everyone to meet.<br />
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The stories (based on Agatha Christie novels, which are even more excellent than the show) take place in the early twentieth century and mostly in Europe. As such, everyone is Just So. The men, even on their days off, wear three piece suits and carry themselves with perfect posture. They pay their debts, watch their language, and rise to their feet when ladies enter the room. The women exude poise, pride, and propriety to the point that it's palpable. Their dresses are flimsy and flowy and they wouldn't <i>dream </i>of leaving the house looking a wreck or failing to offer a guest tea.<br />
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I've also been using <i>The Dick Van Dyke Show </i>as my mindless, while-I-chop-veggies-for-salad show. (Gabe doesn't care for it, but I grew up watching reruns so it's basically comfort TV.) Though that takes place in the '50s, I think, it's got that same air of class. If people are invited to dinner, they put on a suit or a dress to attend. Men call for ladies at their houses for dates. Words are well-chosen and well-enunciated. Ladies sometimes wear gloves. Houses are neat. Everyone understands what's expected of them to do or say, or not do or not say. It's so...pretty. Life was pretty.<br />
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Now, I know I'm supposed to rage at the fact that in <i>Poirot </i>women are treated like dainty, delicate creatures who can't be exposed to nasty words, and in <i>Dick Van Dyke</i>, women are expected to do the housework and look nice for their husbands...but I don't. I just don't.<br />
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I wish I lived in one of those times. I just absolutely love the cultures. The more I watch stuff like this, the more I think we've gone too far in the opposite direction. In our quest for "realness," we've completely disregarded tact and presentation. In our quest for equality, we've demonized the idea of women being managers of the home. In our quest for expediency, we've neglected to foster healthy, precise vocabularies.<br />
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This paragraph here was originally me admitting that "of course, there are some things I'm glad I can do today that I wouldn't have been able to do in <i>Poirot</i>'s day," but I couldn't even come up with anything besides "wear shorts," and I think dresses and skirts are more comfortable anyway. I guess I'd miss some modern medicines and plumbing. Yeah, that's definitely true. But to give up such amenities in return for Such Classiness sounds like a fair trade.<br />
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I wish people were still expected to behave well. Sure, it's <i>easier</i> not having to put your napkin in your lap or bring a hostess gift or stand when an older person walks in or say "Excuse me" when you leave a situation, but...just because it's easier doesn't mean it's better. I get it that honesty, transparency, and genuineness are desirable qualities, but can't we still maintain some discretion? Obviously I want to be able to share my thoughts with my sister or husband or best friend even if said thoughts aren't polite or rosy, but maybe that's where we should draw the line, rather than spewing outright, inarticulate shade to anyone with ears.<br />
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Of course, even "back in the day" shade was thrown and insults were spoken (have you ever read a Jane Austen novel?), but it was done more subtly, and almost more fairly too, because people were more aware of expectations. If you did X, Y, or Z, you <i>knew </i>it was considered impolite; you opened the door to just criticism.<br />
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Some might say that's worse, that all the manners just made it easier to be phony and passive aggressive and prevented people from becoming fully themselves. But...hm. Maybe I'm just a sucker for appearances? Or maybe I'm a little bit right. I think when done correctly, the old manners don't just help you <i>appear </i>to be a prettier, better, politer person, they might actually help mold you into a one.<br />
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~StephanieStephaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00008080252448136454noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1907897020139231814.post-77992971285904947212017-04-06T11:06:00.000-04:002017-04-06T11:06:34.577-04:00~happiness~Gem and I have been so, so happy lately. I don't even know why. I think we're just getting into a good rhythm, learning each other, figuring out what works and when to back off.<br />
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So far this week we have watched <i>The Hunchback of Notre Dame </i>(Gem's first time), had an impromptu dance party, watched a lot of Friends, done some crossword puzzles, snuggled on the couch, tried making enchiladas, spontaneously bought and made brownie sundaes, and laughed a TON.<br />
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I got a migraine Tuesday night, and while it sucked, it also ended up being kind of cool because I just laid there are visiting with God for like two hours. I had some cool revelations and just enjoyed praying.<br />
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I have never been this happy. Work isn't stressful right now, Gem and I are doing wonderfully, and working out is still going well. This weekend we have plans to watch <i>Les Mis</i>, go clubbing (!!!), have brunch with my aunt, and play Cards Against Humanity with Gem's brother and sister-in-law.<br />
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Easter is soon. That means Cadbury mini eggs and <i>The Ten Commandments </i>movie.<br />
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The weather is warming up.<br />
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I am just love, love, loving life. I don't feel like this much anymore. But maybe I will more now. I dunno. I'm so happy :)<br />
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I hope you're doing well, if you're reading this. I do miss the blogging community.<br />
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~StephanieStephaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00008080252448136454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1907897020139231814.post-56284247551777481922017-03-28T16:26:00.000-04:002017-03-28T16:26:01.068-04:00Run of the MILI LOVE Gem's family. A ton. They're the big family I always wanted and never had.<br />
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But let me just say, it's a good thing I'm not easily offended. And while I'm not easily offended, I'd like to share some things with you, because they're just too good/bad/funny/whatever.<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Things My Mother-in-Law Has Said Since Sunday</span></b><br />
<b>- "Is there any room in your fridge for this?" *holds up something she had in the cooler; opens fridge* "Oh wow. Yeah. You guys have like nothing in your fridge."</b> In my defense, the next day was grocery day. I promise I feed your son. (It's even more sad because just the other day Gem and I were talking about how our fridge is finally starting to look like a grownup fridge. We've collected actual staple ingredients! Sigh.)<br />
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<b>- "So, is your job with Classical Conversations pretty much almost full-time?" </b>She says because she doesn't understand why I can't hang out with them the whole time they're visiting. Yes, my 40-50-hours-a-week, pays-all-the-bills, what-I-went-to-college-for dream job IS "pretty much almost" full-time.<br />
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<b>- "But you're going to quit or go to part time after Gem graduates, right?" </b>Well, no. I like my job. I went to school for this. I want to do more with my life than watch Netflix and spend my husband's money.<br />
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<b>- "Oh yeah, chili is definitely something I can eat on my diet." *hours later* "Wait, you don't put beans in your chili, do you?"</b> Does anyone NOT put beans in their chili?<br />
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Sigh XD She really is awesome, and didn't mean anything bad by any of her questions and comments, but, like I said, it's a good thing I'm not easily offended, right?<br />
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~StephanieStephaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00008080252448136454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1907897020139231814.post-67517700420509108382017-03-16T11:05:00.002-04:002017-03-16T11:05:55.624-04:00Food FreakWe're planning a cooking night with some couple friends for tomorrow. Last night I went out for fondue with some girl friends. Basically the past couple of days have been orchestrated for reminding me how weird my food habits/restrictions are XD<br />
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For instance, I don't do alcohol at all. (No, it isn't for religious reasons or because I'm a prude. See <a href="http://reasonexrhyme.blogspot.com/2015/09/as-told-in-pairs.html" target="_blank">here</a>.) It's like I'm on a 23-year no-alcohol streak that I intend never to break. But you know what the base of cheese dipping sauces is at fondue restaurants? Alcohol. Of course, all the alcohol cooks off, so it's not a big deal, but it freaked me out. No way was I breaking my 23-year-long streak for some wickedly expensive Havarti.<br />
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I still ate it (delicious, though absolutely not worth the price), but only after texting Gem and getting reassurance that it wouldn't be breaking my streak.<br />
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Then, as we planned cooking night for tomorrow, it came up that I can't drink carbonation. (Story: I used to be "addicted"' to CocaCola, so in college I decided to go a whole year without soda of any kind. I did it. And when I drank my celebratory cherry Coke 365 days later, it destroyed my insides. Since then I've tried it several times, and even so much as a sip sends me packing for the bathroom.)<br />
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I'm also deathly allergic to peanuts, and slightly allergic to cucumbers, bananas, carrots, and watermelon.<br />
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In case any of you ever want to have me over for dinner. Or kill me.<br />
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~StephanieStephaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00008080252448136454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1907897020139231814.post-43343139586804194442017-03-13T20:08:00.000-04:002017-03-13T20:24:04.304-04:00Yeah, I'm into Fitness<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Today was my eighth consecutive weekday at the gym :) My college friend Anna convinced me to join with her, and I'm SO glad. I've seriously slacked off since, well, the wedding. I've never paid for a gym membership before. My family had one growing up, and in college it was "free." It feels different paying for one. It feels more important, like a real investment. I'm hoping that feeling sticks.<br />
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I'm also watching what I'm eating. I got the MyFitnessPal app and am logging faithfully, probably because I need something to do on my phone to replace Facebook (#Lent).<br />
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In the past, I've struggled with anorexic tendencies. I'm following a lot of healthy fitness models now though, and I actually think my mind is fixed. I'm more interested in being healthy than skinny now. I do want to lose weight and tone up, but I want strong muscles, not chicken legs. I dunno. That alone feels like progress.<br />
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(Highly recommend following Emily Skye on Snapchat, Facebook, and Instagram. She's my absolute favorite. Goofy, yet insightful; beautiful, yet real; funny, yet admirable.)<br />
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Tomorrow I'm gonna work out again. It'll be leg day.<br />
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Yeah. I've become pretty dull. Oh, but Gem and I went to Charleston, SC this past weekend! It was hands down--honeymoon included--the best trip ever. The weather was perfection, we had money saved to spend, and Gem's and my travel styles are so in sync. Every meal was delicious. Every store was fun. Every night was full of TV and king-sized-bed wallowing and Things Married People Are Allowed to Do.<br />
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I know we haven't been married long at all, but it's nice to still feel so in love. We've been on each others nerves a lot lately. It was nice to have a fight-free weekend in my favorite US city.<br />
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Gem bought me this necklace! I had asked a while ago if he would buy me a necklace I could just wear all the time, like a default. So he did :)</div>
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Flabbergasted that the bed behind us was worth--prepare yourself--one hundred and twenty-five THOUSAND dollars.</div>
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I just really enjoyed this children's book series XD</div>
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My favorite Charleston jewelry store is closing! Sad. But I got excellent deals.</div>
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This cannon was dug up in someone's backyard when they tried to dig a well or something XD</div>
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It went from 60 degrees to 35 over night. We bundled hard.</div>
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Aaaaand this one is just because I felt like it was a good hair day.</div>
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Sad to leave, but glad we went.</div>
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~StephanieStephaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00008080252448136454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1907897020139231814.post-31424510375697666862017-03-09T12:55:00.002-05:002017-03-09T12:55:43.714-05:00Complaining?Hey y'all :)<br />
<br />
For a while there it looked like Peripeteia was on its way out. I started using my more "thoughtful, professional" blog, <a href="http://reasonexrhyme.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Reason in the Rhyme</a> and stopped feeling particularly attached here.<br />
<br />
But lately...that's been changing. I have a lot of less professional thoughts, as evidenced by the last post. Sometimes I just want to talk about my life, or connect with other bloggers, or try out different themes. Reason in the Rhyme doesn't fee like me. It feels like...the Me who wanted a job last year.<br />
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So, maybe I'm back, if anyone is still here :)<br />
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It feels like blogging is a dying art. Last week, I went to my profile, clicked one of my Interests, and began poking around trying to find bloggers like me. You know what I found? Eight times out of ten, nothing had been posted on the blog since like 2011. That's six years ago, guys. EIGHT TIMES OUT OF TEN.<br />
<br />
Granted, I have a LOT of blogs (<a href="http://puelladei.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Carpe Diem</a>, <a href="http://toseizethenight.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Carpe Noctem</a>, <a href="http://carpeliberi.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Carpe Liber</a>, to name a few) that are in the same boat, but I also have Peripeteia and Reason.<br />
<br />
It seems like in the past few years, blogging has gone from something lots of people do to something that only "successful bloggers" do. Blogging isn't about sharing your thoughts with like-minded people anymore; it's a glamorous platform for people who love their labels. There are fashion blogs and fitness blogs and recipe blogs and frugal lifestyle blogs and...that's, like, it. And if anyone can't get 300+ followers in the first year or so, then she might as well just call it quits. Clearly she isn't meant to be a blogger<br />
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I feel it too. I feel like posting here is useless. Peripeteia doesn't have a "theme." It used to be about <a href="http://theforbiddenme.blogspot.com/2011/03/blog-post_20.html" target="_blank">Winking </a>and <a href="http://theforbiddenme.blogspot.com/2011/03/explanation-actors.html" target="_blank">Hot Guys</a>. Then it was life updates. Now it's...I don't know.<br />
<br />
I want to be free. That was the whole point of this blog. I wanted to get away from the sunshine and butterflies persona of Kendra Logan and be ME. I am still sometimes sunshine and butterflies, but I'm also sarcasm and bitchiness, politics and PG-13 movies.<br />
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I hate that now I feel like I have to turn this into a blog with a specific theme.<br />
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And I hate that the reason I feel that way is because I want "Followers." Because the truth is, in no way do I have to give this blog a theme. No one is telling me that. It's just that I know no one wants to read a blog that DOESN'T have a theme, and I do--I'll readily admit it--I DO want people to read my blogs.<br />
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Maybe the theme of the blog will just be that it's always changing themes.<br />
<br />
Maybe I just need to get over myself and not care whether or not anyone reads :)<br />
<br />
Probably that.<br />
<br />
~ StephanieStephaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00008080252448136454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1907897020139231814.post-76977779577583141672017-02-28T16:32:00.001-05:002017-02-28T16:40:04.109-05:00Stupid Things People Are Upset AboutFirst all, miss y'all.<br />
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Second.<br />
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Lately, I've been on Facebook and Snapchat entirely too much. It's like a car wreck that I can't look away from. Every time I think I've seen the dumbest thing people can be offended by, something dumber comes along. Every time I think an article is going to be satirical, I read it and find out that, yes, people are ACTUALLY whining that Siri has a female voice and therefore reinforces the patriarchy (women = subservient). Yeah. I'm dead serious. (Sorry to anyone who's had someone pass away; I know that phrase is fatally--oops, did it again--offensive.)<br />
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Clearly every single person on social media has such a privileged life (yes, even non-whites) that they must invent crap to be bothered by. If you had real problems, trust me, you would not be throwing tantrums about iRobots.<br />
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It's miserable. And misery loves company. So here. Share in my misery of these incredibly stupid things that people are saying/believing/protesting.<br />
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<b><u>1. <a href="https://qz.com/911681/we-tested-apples-siri-amazon-echos-alexa-microsofts-cortana-and-googles-google-home-to-see-which-personal-assistant-bots-stand-up-for-themselves-in-the-face-of-sexual-harassment/" target="_blank">The Siri Thing</a></u></b> - Let's just start with that. The article opens with how sexist it is that a helpful electronic presence is given a female voice. Siri is our helper, our inferior, and so naturally, in a patriarchal society, she's a she. Then it talks about how if you say rude sexual or gender-based things to different bots, they mostly don't tell you off. They also respond favorably to being complimented.<br />
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You're telling me that the problem here is with bot creators making bots that are shallow and deflective, and NOT with the idiots who sat around all day calling Siri a slut?<br />
<u><br /></u>
<b><u>2. Women's Sex Double Standards</u></b> - I wish I could link to this, but it was a Snapchat article. The article was something like "Ten Reasons Not to Go on a Second Date with Someone." Number 6? "He pressures you for sex." Great. Sounds like a good reason not to go on another date with him. Number 9? "He makes you feel bad for wanting sex on the first date." The bullet point goes on to say that someone who shames you for "wanting to get yours" is a prude monster. So, lemme get this straight. A woman can pressure a man for sex, but a man can't pressure a woman for sex. #equality<br />
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<b><u>3. </u><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O1KJRRSB_XA" target="_blank">Cornrows </a></b>- I watched a video (my first mistake) on how wrong it is for anyone other than African Americans to wear cornrows. If you don't have hair that makes cornrows sensible, then you're just committing cultural appropriation. If you're white, you shouldn't get cornrows because you can't appreciate black culture. (So basically, your skin color dictates what style you're allowed to have. Imagine if white people tried to curtail what style black people choose because they're black.) By this logic, only Hawaiians can wear flower in their hair, only Polynesians can have tattoos, and only real cowboys can wear cowboy hats.<br />
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How about, instead of getting pissy over everything, we let people wear what they want to wear and do what they want to do regardless of their race? Isn't that kind of the point? That people not be judged or restricted by their race?<br />
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<u>4. <a href="http://www.breitbart.com/tech/2017/02/22/university-of-washington-declares-correct-grammar-is-racist/" target="_blank">Racist Grammar</a></u> - The University of Washington decided that proper grammar is racist, that "English" has no set standard. First of all, what? Are they seriously saying that someone's race makes them incapable of speaking or writing proper English? NOW who's racist?! Second of all, English does have a standard. That's the whole point of the dictionary, so...<br />
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<b><u>5. Offensive Goose Song</u></b> - I'm not sure how to link to a podcast, so you're just gonna have to hear this one from me. The Woody and Wilcox radio show brought up the story of a woman who heard church bells playing a song, researched to discover the song's lyrics (how would one even do that?), and found that the song's lyrics concerned a man and his dogs hunting geese. She then protested the church for playing a song that was offensive to geese. PETA got involved.<br />
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How do we explain to them that the geese don't care? That that woman was not actually protesting from a desire to protect geese, but from a desire to make herself feel good? When people protect animals' feelings, they aren't concerned with the animals at all; they're in it for their own ego. They want to feel like they're doing good. They want people to pat them on the back.<br />
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<b><u>6. The Entire Concept of Microaggression</u> </b>- The word literally says that you are so petty and sensitive that you're offended by something microscopic. Get over yourself. Stop over-analyzing every single thing until you can find something that someone somewhere might think is offensive. Half the time, the potentially offended party (like the goose, for instance) doesn't even give a crap.<br />
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If you have any other stupid things that people are upset about, please don't share them. I'm in a state of perpetual annoyance as is ;)<br />
<br />
~StephanieStephaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00008080252448136454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1907897020139231814.post-31016636733027636862016-09-23T10:00:00.004-04:002016-09-23T10:04:49.583-04:00In Celebration...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">...of our two-month marriage anniversary, here are some pictures
from the big day! I'm kind of obsessed with them.</span></div>
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I hate the smell of flowers, so all our flowers were hand made of paper by one of my bridesmaids :)</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3KUWTZjDPR5lGTOWiDAxIROaOvAoR_qvCZa76ns-Y7t96d_SwgkIDpCXMqdAmv-lmoMtgf9rhkYksqGXEVJPOR_dlWWzJa4XS-_7h940cCNByeKzO7SzGAhV1zIB2OOofH1e6pxFNs4E/s1600/14206109_10208544740310723_7860084997700286705_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3KUWTZjDPR5lGTOWiDAxIROaOvAoR_qvCZa76ns-Y7t96d_SwgkIDpCXMqdAmv-lmoMtgf9rhkYksqGXEVJPOR_dlWWzJa4XS-_7h940cCNByeKzO7SzGAhV1zIB2OOofH1e6pxFNs4E/s640/14206109_10208544740310723_7860084997700286705_o.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Maid of Honor, my sister Sarah!</div>
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Cassidy, my best friend who made all the flowers!</div>
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College roomie, Harley :)</div>
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Childhood best friend and fire fairy, Jesse :)</div>
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Now sister-in-law, Abigail!</div>
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Another childhood best friend and fire fairy, Ellie!</div>
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You can't tell, but the cake topper bride is pinching the cake topper groom's butt. That cake topper was the first wedding thing I picked out.</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Best day of my life--so far :)</span></div>
Stephaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00008080252448136454noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1907897020139231814.post-32980788112204952182016-06-09T11:56:00.003-04:002016-06-09T11:56:33.465-04:00Processing "Rape Culture"I'm not sure how to write about this. I don't even know what I want to say yet (which is--as always--why I'm writing in the first place).<br />
<br />
You've probably already heard more than you care to about the girl who was raped behind a dumpster and how her rapist got sentenced to only six months in prison. Part of me agrees that you can never say too much about how awful that was. But part of me is also emotionally exhausted by all the hate and horror floating around on the internet.<br />
<br />
If it's not police violence, it's a gorilla getting shot. If it's not a gorilla getting shot, it's how males are absolute pigs and responsible for "rape culture."<br />
<br />
Are males responsible for rape culture? Well, they are statistically more often the rapists and than the victims. Males do have more of a reputation for objectifying and sexualizing women, and reputations don't just form for <i>no </i>reason. So, I guess yeah, males are primarily responsible for rape culture.<br />
<br />
But not ALL males. Gem is not responsible for rape culture. My dad is not responsible for rape culture. And I resent all the broad, sweeping statements about how "No, you know what, because you have a penis you ARE part of the problem and the fact that you don't think you are means you're even worse and there's nothing you can say or do to make me change my mind."<br />
<br />
I'm sorry, but isn't that just another form of sexism? Don't women get enraged when sweeping statements are made about them? People are <i>individuals</i>. "Men" is not a homogeneous group of macho rapists any more than "Women" is a homogeneous group of emotional bitches.<br />
<br />
Brock Turner did something wrong. But TWO other males did something right by stopping him and calling the police.<br />
<br />
Yeah, males are primarily responsible for rape culture. But not ALL males.<br />
<br />
I also happen to think that it is really stupid for a young woman to get so drunk she can't remember her night, so drunk she thinks it's wise to wander behind a dumpster with a strange boy. I do NOT mean that it was "her fault" that she was violated. But you are <i>more likely</i> to get knifed in a dark alley alone than in a well-lit Starbucks. You are also <i>more likely</i> to be molested if you are totally plastered and unable to enforce your wishes. (A <a href="http://www.campussafetymagazine.com/article/Sexual-Assault-Statistics-and-Myths#" target="_blank">2012 study posted by Campus Safety Magazine</a> reports that "90% of acquaintance rapes involve alcohol.")<br />
<br />
But then again. I just read <a href="http://www.tosavealife.com/dear-girl-dumpster-stanford/#.V1l-LFfTjOk.facebook" target="_blank">an article</a> (why do I even do that to myself? It's like reading the comments on YouTube) by a 20-something Christian guy who made a point I had somehow overlooked: "As men, it’s our job to protect women regardless of what they wear or how much they drink."<br />
<br />
Oh.<br />
<br />
How could I have forgotten the way I was raised? How could I have forgotten the Southern values I hold to so proudly? How could I have forgotten the Biblical responsibility of men?<br />
<br />
I've been so caught up in how dumb and irresponsible it is to wear short skirts and get plastered in an alleyway that I forgot that THAT SHOULDN'T MATTER. In a common sense and empirical kind of way, it totally does matter, but on a moral, Christian, Southern level, it shouldn't matter at all.<br />
<br />
Men are supposed to protect women, not because women are weak or cowardly, but because it's polite (and clearly women are the ones who need protection in this particular case, since most rapists are men and most victims are women).<br />
<br />
But no matter how confident in and proud of Gem and my dad I am, I will never wear a short skirt and get plastered in an alleyway.<br />
<br />
~Stephanie Stephaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00008080252448136454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1907897020139231814.post-71486877982934297742016-03-31T10:48:00.002-04:002016-04-24T23:16:25.327-04:00You Might Be an English Major If...~ You like to laugh at whoever made notes in your literature book before you. They had no clue what they were talking about.<br />
<br />
~ You get a special thrill when you've already underlined a passage your professor highlights in class.<br />
<br />
~ It takes you three times longer than necessary to study for a literature exam, because you keep getting caught up in how beautiful the words are.<br />
<br />
~ Your idea of "relaxing" is paraphrasing <i>Paradise Lost</i> in modern English.<br />
<br />
~ You're reading a book for pleasure, but keep feeling like you ought to be taking notes.<br />
<br />
~ People ask you grammar questions instead of looking up the answers, because you're faster.<br />
<br />
~ Some of the truest joy you've ever felt comes from finding a book source that is truly PERFECT for your research paper. (This happened to me about an hour ago and I'm not gonna lie, I'm still coming down from it.)<br />
<br />
~ If listening to your favorite song looks like this.<br />
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<br />
<br />
~ You experience gut-wrenching horror, anger, and sorrow when book-burning is mentioned.<br />
<br />
~ A fun evening of relaxing can totally include watching a <i>Macbeth </i>adaptation or reading scholarly articles on femininity in "The Birthmark." <br />
<br />
~ You are beyond tired of the question, "So do you wanna teach then?" English majors do not have to be teachers any more than math majors have to be calculators.<br />
<br />
~ It feels completely normal to spend 80 minutes talking about phallic and yonic symbols. In fact, you don't really even notice.<br />
<br />
~ The inappropriate use of "literally" makes you want to walk away from a conversation--LITERALLY.<br />
<br />
~ You are the go-to person whenever someone needs his or her paper edited. And you don't mind.<br />
<br />
~ You hear the phrase "country matters" and start giggling mischievously, because <i>Hamlet</i>.<br />
<br />
~ You check out a book at the library called "Gold-Hall and Earth-Dragon: Beowulf as a Metaphor" JUST BECAUSE IT SOUNDS INTERESTING.<br />
<br />
~ You have turned in over 100 pages of writing this semester.<br />
<br />
~ You cringe whenever directly quoting forces you to use controversial punctuation. {I like my <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Serial_comma">Oxford commas</a>, thank you very much.}<br />
<br />
~ You actually have an opinion on the Oxford comma.<br />
<br />
~ You go out with your friends and end up talking about Hamlet's psychological state, why you're in love with Emily Dickinson, and how Wallace Stevens was a total nihilist.<br />
<br />
~ You care enough to compile a list of things called "You Might Be an English Major If..."<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Bonus Round:</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>You might be a SENIOR English major if...</b></span><br />
<br />
~ You accept the challenge of writing a paper on a text you have not quite finished reading.<br />
<br />
~ You email your professor a question about your paper and justify crossing off "work on paper" from your To Do list.<br />
<br />
~ You really hope your professor remembers the amazing paper you wrote freshman year and gives you a massive benefit-of-the-doubt about this current one.<br />
<br />
~ You write a blog post about your paper and justify crossing off "work on paper" from your To Do list.<br />
<br />
~ You do not crumble at the thought of reading 250 pages in a weekend, and another 400 between Monday and Thursday.<br />
<br />
~ You start crying when your professor changes a paper requirement from "12-15 pages" to "10-12 pages."<br />
<br />
~ You start crying when your professor postpones a paper deadline by a week.<br />
<br />
~ You just generally start crying a lot.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>You might be a senior English major at Campbell University if...</b></span><br />
<br />
~ Your professors are some of the most important and amazing people you've ever had in your life, and you are going to miss them every bit as much as you're going to miss your friends. Free pizza.<br />
<br />
I'm not even going to make a joke about Just Kidding I'm Gonna Miss Free Pizza More.<br />
<br />
I can't believe this part of the journey is almost over.<br />
<br />
~ StephanieStephaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00008080252448136454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1907897020139231814.post-64821310689299180972016-01-01T20:56:00.002-05:002016-01-01T20:56:47.361-05:002016: The Best Year of My LifeMore will come. Right now I'm still in shock. I've been shaking and beaming uncontrollably for the past...sixteen hours.<br />
<br />
There was mud. And an argument. And literal fireworks.<br />
<br />
And then my best friend, the man of my dreams, my rock, my partner, my love...<br />
<br />
Got down on one knee and asked me to marry him.<br />
<br />
After gasping, asking if he was serious, and feeling tears of joy, I managed to say "Yes." It was the happiest and surest word I'd ever spoken.<br />
<br />
Guys. Gem and I are engaged. I could not be any more joyful.<br />
<br />
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<br />
~StephanieStephaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00008080252448136454noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1907897020139231814.post-81811824137696040942015-11-03T20:41:00.000-05:002015-11-03T20:41:35.255-05:00Bitch, I Can Accomplish More Than One Thing<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m not sure if I’m staying angry so that I can write this,
or if I’m really still furious. I was definitely furious half an hour ago
though, of that I am certain.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I teach a section of a class at Campbell called the Campbell
University Freshman Seminar (CUFS). It’s basically just a required class for
freshmen about how to succeed in college. To be a teacher of this class, I attend
meetings every other week with all the other student teachers and we learn
teaching strategies and styles etc. Tonight was one of those meetings.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Tonight’s meeting was about Stress Management, and Goal
Setting. Stress Management was really fun: we did breathing exercises, listened
to music, and colored. Then came Goal Setting, which involved The Stoplight "Game."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We were each given fifteen sticky notes (five green, five
red, five yellow). On the
red, we were to write things we want to stop doing next semester; on the green, things we want to start
doing; on the yellow, things we want to keep doing.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At first it was hard to come up with things, but once
the juices got flowing, I really enjoyed the activity. Visualizing my
goals made me feel more productive and capable.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then we lay all the sticky notes in
front of us.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“All right,” Carrie, the leader, said. “Now, take away
five of them. If you had to give up five goals for next semester, which ones
would you discard?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ugh, that sucked after working so hard to pick <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">really important </i>things. I was annoyed.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“All right,” Carrie said. “Look at these ten things. These
are the ten things you most want to be sure to do next semester.” We all nodded.
“Okay, now take away five more.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now it just wasn’t cool. I stared at my goals, things like “Make
Time for Creative Writing,” “Read my Bible Every Day,” and “Work Out More
Consistently” and felt genuinely persecuted as I had to strip five more away.
Who was this bitch to tell me that I could only accomplish five damn things
next semester?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I still had seven when she beamed at the group again. “All
right, now that you have five in front of you—” (“I still have seven,” I muttered
to my small group as I finally stripped away "Stop Putting Off Getting Started" and "Start Writing Letters Again") “—I want you to take away two more.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I glared at her. Wow. Now I had to take away “Blogging” and “Getting the
Hard Stuff Done First” (an awesome strategy I’ve somehow just recently bought
into).</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Now,” she said. “You guessed it. What if you could only
have one goal in front of you? Discard two more. What is the most important
thing to you?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Wow,” I muttered to my small group. “Obviously ‘Send Out My
Resume and Get a Real Job” is the one thing that has to stay. I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">have</i> to get a job.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I stared at that little green sticky note which—just minutes
ago—had held promise and productivity and passion, and I hated it. I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">hated its dirty fucking soul</i>.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I had watched my colorful and well-rounded array of life
goals boil down to “Hey Bitch. Get your ‘real’ life together.” I had watched
goals like “Start Writing Letters Again,” “Eat Healthier,” and “Hang Out With
My Roommates” get stripped away because they weren’t “as important” as
practical or obligatory shit like “Read My Bible Every Day” (sorry, Jesus, I love
doing that. I honestly do. Which is why it was fucking stupid to make me
discard it) and “Send Out My Resume.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s just not fair. Seriously, who is this bitch who thinks I
can only accomplish one damn thing?!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We then had to continue this activity by sharing with the
group and making a timeline for achievement, complete with intermediate goals.
As people shared, they had fun insights like “My number one ended up being ‘Get
Organized,’ and it’s funny because I realized that if I just get organized, I’ll
actually achieve my number two and three goals, which were ‘Study More’ and ‘Sleep
More.’”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Great!” Carrie would say. “That’s great! That’s exactly
right. Isn’t it cool how you figure out that by achieving your ultimate goal, a
lot of the little things fall into place!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Except that I actually arranged my goals so that they didn’t
overlap like that. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">ALL </i>of my goals
were <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">individually important</i>.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“This might be a fun activity to do with your classes,”
Carrie said. “We’re happy to provide sticky notes if you want to come by the
office and grab some!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I will set my
classroom on fire before I subject my beloved freshmen to this</i>, I thought.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
See, I understand the purpose of the activity. It was
to help us prioritize, and that part WAS really interesting. (So
interesting that I’m actually going to end this post with my goals in order.)
It just also depressed me completely.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Why would you make me come up with things I want
to do with my life, then direct me to discard everything that adds color and
joy and personality, because—sorry—they can’t realistically make the cut
because I’d rather “Start Working Out” than “Start Writing Letters Again.”
First of all, that makes me feel like a really shitty person when you make me
visually depict the fact that I guess I care more about how I look than keeping
in touch with people? Except that I don’t think I’m a shitty person (at least not because of that). I think I can
do both of those things perfectly well. Back the fuck off and let me keep my
goals.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I know I sound like I’m getting way, way, irrationally angry
about this. And maybe I am. Maybe I’m just PMSing. But I just think it’s really
painful and unhelpful to make a college senior reduce her life to “Get a Job,
Bitch.” But maybe that’s just me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We shoulda done the Stress Management Workshop last. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #f1c232;">15. Clearing Out My Email Inbox Regularly</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #38761d;">14. Meeting Up with My CUFS Kids/Keeping in Touch with Them</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #cc0000;">13. Wasting So Much Time on Facebook</span></div>
<span style="color: #cc0000;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #cc0000;">12. Letting My Room Get So Messy</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #cc0000;">11. Assuming People Don’t Remember Me</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #f1c232;">10. Hanging Out with My Roommates</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #cc0000;">9. Eating So Much Junk Food</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #38761d;">8. Making Time for Creative Writing</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #38761d;">7. Writing Letters Again</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #cc0000;">6. Stopping Putting off Getting Started</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #f1c232;">5. Doing the “Hard” Stuff First</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #f1c232;">4. Blogging</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #f1c232;">3. Reading My Bible Every Day</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #38761d;">2. Working Out More Consistently</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #38761d;">1. Sending Out Job Applications/Resume</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
~Stephanie </div>
Stephaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00008080252448136454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1907897020139231814.post-84899585446591823112015-11-01T21:13:00.001-05:002015-11-01T21:19:00.123-05:00A Small BreakdownI had a small breakdown today.<br />
<br />
My roommate and I went to see the play "Anne of Green Gables" this afternoon. I LOVED those movies as a kid. We have the entire movie series on VHS and I think I can probably still quote whole sections even though I haven't seen them in years.<br />
<br />
Actually, before the play, I hadn't even THOUGHT about the story lately: the story of a little orphan girl with an unparalleled imagination, a big mouth, and dreams of authorship. I forgot how much Anne felt like childhood, felt like a legitimate part of MY identity, felt like <i>home</i>. Anne found a home in Green Gables, and I found my home today in her.<br />
<br />
Suddenly I remembered how inspired I would get when I watched movies set in "olden days." I would start getting up at 7am and making my bed and eating an "old-fashioned" breakfasts and doing my chores right away and trying to wear dresses. I would make vows like ones Anne would make, about being a more conscientious person. I would try to be Polite and Well-Mannered and Hospitable.<br />
<br />
Then my stomach started to sink with the startling realization that I am sort of grown up. There will not ever be another time when I can wake up and reinvent myself while my mom actually keeps my real life spinning. I actually DO have to get up at 7am and do my chores, because no one else is going to do them for me. I can't just lose myself in whatever pretend game I want anymore. I have to live my own, actual, real life.<br />
<br />
And then--at the time it somehow seemed directly related to the above--I got really homesick. Lately I've been plagued by a gnawing feeling of homelessness. The couch and chair in my apartment living room are SINFULLY uncomfortable (the arms are bony, the leather seats stick to your skin, and the cushions come out the moment your ass touches them). My room is always messy because 1) it's small and 2) I never have the time or energy to keep it neat. Our kitchen sink is too shallow to wash dishes in and we don't have enough counter space to cook real food comfortably. My apartment does not feel like home.<br />
<br />
But Gem's dorm is even worse. He's in your typical freshman dorm: roommate, cinder block walls, loud AC unit, muggy as hell (the dehumidifier they just bought collects TWO GALLONS of water a day), and his bed is all the way lofted. You cannot sit up in bed at all. You're like 18 inches from the ceiling. It is like living in a prison cell. A humid, humid prison cell.<br />
<br />
So, naturally, Home--my parents' house--is where my mind wistfully wandered.<br />
<br />
Except that "Home" doesn't feel right anymore either. It has actually just started to feel like "my parents' house." Sure, it's familiar and the couch is comfy and the sink is deep and the counter space is fantastic and Mom's cooking is delicious and my room is clean (mostly because I don't live there anymore) and I can sit up in my bed, but...I don't know. It doesn't feel like a place where my soul is relaxed and snuggled up in a blanket anymore. It feels a little bit empty.<br />
<br />
Although I'd give anything to be there now, of course. I really miss my family. I miss Mom's cooking and our inside jokes and her just "GETTING" me. I miss hearing Daddy's newest philosophical and political insights and going to the antique store with him and letting him show me his latest woodworking project. I haven't seen my sister in...a really long time. I don't even know when I saw her last. She pretty much just stays at college. She doesn't even respond to my texts, much less text me on her own.<br />
<br />
But anyway. "Anne of Green Gables" made my heart and my throat ache with homesickness. And then my brain engaged and snorted at me: <i>Homesick? For where? Where is your home? </i>And I didn't even know what to say. <br />
<br />
My parents' house isn't Home anymore, and yet, I can't imagine feeling at home without my parents. This whole semester I've been excited to graduate and make my own "home": an apartment with all my books and my clothes and kitchen utensils where I cook food and watch TV and sleep and live real life. I've been so ready and so excited to make my own home.<br />
<br />
But now I'm afraid that nowhere will ever feel like home, that I am incapable of creating "Home" by myself. I don't know how to do that. I'm afraid I'll always be a little homesick.<br />
<br />
And I just started crying, right there in the play, right there in the dark theater house.<br />
<br />
I'm not crying anymore, but I do feel lost and confused. What does Home really mean, anyway? Where Gem is? Where my books are? Where the damn couch cushions don't scoot out?<br />
<br />
If I ever figure it out, I'm sure I'll let you know.<br />
<br />
~Stephanie Stephaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00008080252448136454noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1907897020139231814.post-76130252656651235542015-10-22T20:25:00.002-04:002015-10-22T20:25:30.186-04:00Songs on Repeat These Days<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>"Waves"</b></span><br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/pUjE9H8QlA4" width="560"></iframe>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>"Stitches"</b></span><br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/VbfpW0pbvaU" width="560"></iframe>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>"Talking Dogs" <span style="font-size: large;">These guys are great, by the way. You should check them out! My friend Alex Mckee is the lead singer and guitar player.</span></b></span><br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/s0U4oCD-V8U?list=PLUSRfoOcUe4YmhCkUIQK35uyD11xAkg5a" width="560"></iframe>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>"The Hills"</b></span><br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/yzTuBuRdAyA" width="560"></iframe>
<br />
<br />
<br />
~Stephanie
Stephaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00008080252448136454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1907897020139231814.post-8081941390948623982015-10-14T21:47:00.001-04:002015-10-14T21:54:36.661-04:00Debunked: Omg The Lion King is HamletTomorrow night I am going to see a live-streamed version of the play <i>Hamlet</i>, starring Benedict Cumberbatch. Be jealous.<br />
<br />
In honor of getting to see my favorite play of all time, I would like to address a popular myth that absolutely fries me. It is the myth of<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">"Omg <i>The Lion King</i> is totes a retelling of <i>Hamlet</i>"</span></div>
<br />
I would like to unmask this ridiculous falsehood by replying<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">"Bitch no it is not"</span></div>
<br />
And, of course, providing evidence to that effect. So here we go.<br />
<br />
<b><span style="color: #990000;">WARNING: SPOILERS. I assume you know the story of <i>The Lion King</i> and don't mind some ruined "surprises" in <i>Hamlet</i>, but I believe there is a special circle of Hell reserved for people who spoil stories, and I am all about not going to Hell. So proceed at your own risk.</span></b><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">Similarities Between Disney's <i>The Lion King </i>and William Shakespeare's <i>Hamlet</i></span></div>
<br />
<u><b>1. Both stories revolve around royalty.</b></u> Congratulations, you have identified two works that feature royal families. This is only like one of THE MOST common elements in literature, and basically the MAIN element in classic Disney.<br />
<br />
<u><b>2. In both stories, the uncles kill the fathers in order to take the crown for themselves.</b></u> This is a much better parallel, but, again, it's a common theme in stories. The little brother who wants his big brother's crown is pretty much a classic plot line.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b><u>3. In both stories, the ghosts of the dead kings appear.</u> </b>This would be a pretty convincing similarity if their roles weren't vastly, vastly, fundamentally different. See Differences...<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">Differences Between </span><span style="font-size: x-large;"><i>The Lion King </i>and William Shakespeare's <i>Hamlet</i></span></div>
<br />
<u><b>1. In <i>Hamlet</i>, the Queen Gertrude is involved in plotting King Hamlet's murder;</b></u> in <i>The Lion King</i>, Queen Sarabi is clueless and loyal to King Mufasa.<br />
<br />
<u><b>2. In <i>Hamlet</i>, the uncle and the queen get married--rather quickly.</b></u> In <i>The Lion King</i>, Scar and Sarabi never seem to have a positive relationship.<br />
<br />
<u><b>3. In <i>The Lion King</i>, the uncle frames the son, Simba--and Simba DOES play a role in King Mufasa's death. </b></u>Yeah, it was Scar who orchestrated the whole thing, but in <i>Hamlet</i>, the King's death is presumed to have been from natural causes. Hamlet isn't even implicated.<br />
<br />
<u><b>4. In <i>Hamlet</i>, Ophelia and Hamlet are discouraged from marrying.</b></u> In <i>The Lion King</i>, Simba and Nala are betrothed.<br />
<br />
<u><b>5. In <i>The Lion King</i>, Simba genuinely feels guilty for his father's death and flees.</b></u> In <i>Hamlet</i>, the son sticks around and actually develops an investigation plan. Yeah, Hamlet goes to England for like four seconds, but that is not his idea, and he comes back ASAP.<br />
<br />
<u><b>6. In <i>Hamlet</i>, the love interest, Ophelia, goes crazy and dies.</b></u> In <i>The Lion King</i>, Nala is a feisty and persistent character who makes Simba man (lion?) up.<br />
<br />
<u><b>7. The secondary characters are all completely different.</b></u> Pumba and Timone are on Simba's side; Rosencrantz and Guildenstern's job is basically to spy and tattle on Hamlet. Nala doesn't have a brother (Ophelia has Laertes). Nala's father isn't in the picture at all (Ophelia's father is adviser to the king). Simba doesn't have a strong confidante who actually survives the play (Horatio).<br />
<br />
<u><b>8. In <i>Hamlet</i>, there is no Rafiki character.</b></u><br />
<br />
<u><b>9. In <i>The Lion King</i>, the ghost of Mufasa appears to Simba to give him strength and hope.</b></u> In <i>Hamlet</i>, the ghost of King Hamlet appears to Hamlet to demand vengeance. Mufasa encourages peace; King Hamlet brings unease and frustration.<br />
<br />
<u><b>10. In <i>Hamlet</i>, everybody dies at the end </b></u>(I mean, it is a Shakespearean
tragedy). In <i>The Lion King</i>, it is pretty much happily ever after for
everyone except evil Uncle Scar (and the hyenas).<br />
<br />
And there you have it.<br />
<br />
So next time you hear people say "Omg <i>The Lion King</i> is <i>Hamlet</i>," please slap them for me. And then make them read this post.<br />
<br />
Sincerely,<br />
Such a NerdStephaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00008080252448136454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1907897020139231814.post-58573687449761975702015-09-29T20:46:00.000-04:002015-09-29T20:46:02.282-04:00I Don't Drink<a href="http://reasonexrhyme.blogspot.com/2015/09/as-told-in-pairs.html" target="_blank">As Told in Pairs</a><br />
<br />
:)<br />
<br />
~StephanieStephaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00008080252448136454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1907897020139231814.post-84419280084955097092015-09-10T11:56:00.000-04:002015-09-10T12:00:21.590-04:00From What I Broke FreeEminem and Rihanna came out with <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EHkozMIXZ8w" target="_blank">"The Monster"</a> on October 29, 2013, about two weeks before I completely lost my integrity for a time.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><i>You're trying to save me? Stop holding your breath.</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><i>And you think I'm crazy? Well, that's not fair.</i></span></div>
<br />
I'd always liked Eminem (anyone who loves words should like Eminem. He is <i>brilliant</i>.), and I'd recently come to admit that I liked Rihanna (as a masochist who struggles with a porn addiction, she'd always hit a little too close to home), but "The Monster" took an unprecedented hold on me.<br />
<br />
You know how I used to write in <a href="http://theforbiddenme.blogspot.com/search/label/Purple%20and%20Green" target="_blank">Purple and Green</a>? That's because I used to THINK in Purple and Green, except that it felt like they were thinking for me.<br />
<br />
I felt like my mind was made up of three distinct characters: "Stephanie," "Purple," and "Green." We were each our own person with our own voice. A lot of the time, I--"Stephanie"--wouldn't get very many lines inside my own head. I would sit there and watch/listen to Purple and Green argue and discuss and joke until I felt like I was going legitimately crazy.<br />
<br />
They wouldn't let me get a word in, and eventually I figured it didn't matter. Listening to them helped me process my thoughts anyway. I stopped trying to shut them up and started trying to use their interactions to reason my way through life.<br />
<br />
Because life was bad.<br />
<br />
It didn't always feel bad; in fact, most of the time it felt awesome. It felt like staying up late (to text PC, who I was supposedly broken up with) and saying what I wanted (which included a lot of profanity) and eating what I wanted (whether too little to be healthy or too much to be healthy) and going where I wanted (including to friends' apartments in the middle of the night so I could sleep on the same bed [i.e. dirty mattress on the floor] as PC).<br />
<br />
I knew my life wasn't right, but a lot of the time it felt really great. I felt like I was really, truly, finally starting to Grow Up. I guess I thought growing up meant doing whatever you wanted and feeling really jaded about life.<br />
<br />
But deep down, I felt so, so empty. I felt lost. I could close my eyes and see my heart inside of my chest: dark, swirling, smokey fog. Empty. Insubstantial. Uncertain.<br />
<br />
I lied to my family a lot. I told creative truths and lies of omission to Cassidy. I lost a lot of respect from my little sister. PC helped me do it all. I felt like he was really helping me though. I felt like he was helping me to Grow Up: to be my own person and make my own decisions and fight my own inner demons.<br />
<br />
He especially seemed to help with the inner demons.<br />
<br />
First, he helped me to identify them, which included realizing how "arbitrary" my conditions for dating him were. (I really was being irrational and unkind. I couldn't reasonably expect him to get his life on track before I dated him again. Dating is all about understanding and tackling life <i>together</i>, right? I shouldn't demand that he get a job or become a real Christian <i>first</i>. That could come later.)<br />
<br />
Second, he helped me figure out how I could combat the demons. For example, since I felt so guilty about constantly going farther in our physical relationship, we should set boundaries and stick to them. (He was also really patient when I didn't say No loud enough or push his hands away enough times. He constantly offered to draw the boundary lines again, and even offered to stop in the middle and go get protection when it looked like I really wasn't going to be strong enough to resist.)<br />
<br />
Third, he offered educated diagnoses for my mental episodes (episodes such as changing my mind a lot, hearing Purple and Green, feeling really depressed, etc.). He gently cautioned me that I might be schizophrenic or have serious repressed sexual issues from childhood. Using extensive internet research and carefully constructed logic, he suggested that I might be a sociopath, and that he could see signs of psychopathy in himself (what a perfect match!).<br />
<br />
Eventually I stopped resisting him. He was probably right about everything, and even if he wasn't, I had already gone too far down this particular Growing Up path. PC was not only the best I was ever going to get, he was also what I deserved.<br />
<br />
I started hearing "The Monster" on the radio around the time I stopped resisting. I mostly skipped it; I never seemed to be in the mood to learn a new song, and sometimes I still liked to pretend I hated Rihanna. However, it was catchy, and it reminded me of myself in a way that made me smile wryly.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><i>"I'm friends with the monster that's under my bed, get along with the voices inside of my head..."</i></span><br />
<br />
That line always made me think of Purple and Green.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><i>"You're trying to save me? Stop holding your breath."</i></span><br />
<br />
My heart would pinch as I thought about PC. He loved me so much. He was trying so hard to help me become my true self. He was trying to save me, but I knew I was beyond help. I was hopeless.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><i>"And you think I'm crazy? Yeah, you think I'm crazy. Well, that's not fair."</i></span><br />
<br />
That line gave me pause. The rest of the chorus resonated so perfectly with me. But the speaker wasn't crazy? I was crazy. Wasn't I? Didn't I make up unfair, arbitrary conditions for dating PC; and change my mind all the time about how far I wanted to go physically; and hear voices; and have trust issues? I was <i>crazy</i>.<br />
<br />
But what if that wasn't fair? What if...what if I could get along with my inner demons and voices in my head by myself? What if I could actually handle them just fine? What if PC's trying to "save" me wasn't really salvation at all? What if his saying that I was "crazy" wasn't true? What if it was a selfish ploy to get what he wanted? What if he was just posing as my savior and <i>convincing </i>me that I was crazy?<br />
<br />
Well. That wouldn't be fair.<br />
<br />
What if I wasn't crazy? What if I just wanted something different? What if I just wasn't who he wanted me to be? What if I just wanted a different definition of Growing Up? What if he was just labeling me as crazy so that I would trust him over myself?<br />
<br />
That's. Not. Fair.<br />
<br />
"The Monster" didn't change my life; it didn't inspire me to break with PC once and for all; but it was sort of an unintentional mantra for the next several months. I would listen to it every time it came on the radio, and I would sing along. The last line of the chorus always came out with more conviction than I anticipated:<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><i>"WELL, THAT'S NOT FAIR."</i></span><br />
<br />
How dare he convince me I was crazy just to get what he wanted? That's. Not. Fair.<br />
<br />
And now, every time I hear that song, I am reminded that I am my own person. I am reminded that I have to be careful whom I trust. I am NOT crazy just because someone says I am<br />
<br />
It's funny: ever since I really, truly, finally broke it off with PC, Purple and Green have kind of left me alone.<br />
<br />
~Stephanie Stephaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00008080252448136454noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1907897020139231814.post-34502794579638125132015-08-13T11:42:00.000-04:002015-08-13T13:43:32.515-04:00What Started As a Fragment, Has Ended in Roommate SapIt's been a long time since I just talked here, since I didn't wait for a coherent idea or a fun question to wrestle with or a bunch of sappiness about Gem. I don't have any complete thoughts to share with you, just a lot of...well, fragments. At least I think they are fragments. You know how I get when I write: one thought will sometimes keep unfolding before my fingers until it's a real post. Right?<br />
<br />
~ In three days, I will move into college for the last time. I know everyone always says this, but seriously, how was it three whole years ago that I moved in as a freshman? I was so...unhappy. I wasn't excited to be going to Campbell at all. I was mad at the perceived failure of not going to Wake Forest. I was jaded by my weird romantic relationship. I was lost in my spiritual life. It was awful. You could not pay me enough money to go back to freshman year.<br />
<br />
{Of course, my roommate, Bekah, was actually awesome. We went to bed at the same time, watched the same TV shows, liked the room at the same temperature, listened to the same music, needed the same motivation to go to the gym. She was gorgeous and funny and did not care for drama. I'm convinced it was the most successful random roommate pairing of all time. But other than her, life as a freshman mostly sucked.}<br />
<br />
But now? Now I am Happy.<br />
<br />
My suite mates are the college girl friends everyone promised I would find. They're the people who will go with me to Walmart at 2 o'clock in the morning because I need frozen pizza. They're the people who will just sit down in the hallway with me and hang out there because I'm too stressed and depressed to make it to the living room. They're the people who I can take stupid BuzzFeed quizzes with for hours. They're the people whose opinions matter to me, whether about my earrings or my dinner decision or my boyfriend.<br />
<br />
I hope I will be friends with them for the rest of my life; but if I'm not, if we drift apart and fall out of contact, I will never forget them. I will look back on "college" and hear us laughing and feel us walking across campus and remember us dancing and smile at our late night talks.<br />
<br />
Gosh, I'm going to miss them. I'm going to miss congregating in one our rooms to pick out clothes for the next day. I'm going to miss "family dinners" where Harley makes chicken or spaghetti and the rest of us throw together some sides. I'm going to miss movie nights where we talk over most of the dialogue. I'm going to miss messing with each other and memorizing all the weird quirks and habits to make living together as easy as possible.<br />
<br />
Harley doesn't let anyone touch her blankets.<br />
Allison wears camis under everything, even T-shirts.<br />
Mary is always cold.<br />
Harley loves Captain America.<br />
Allison loves Ed Sheeran.<br />
Mary loves <a href="https://s.yimg.com/cd/resizer/original/rHgc3wp2z68Em7vq3iiHEyRCs3o.gif" target="_blank">Baby Groot</a>.<br />
<br />
I'm not sure what the point of this post is. Reminiscing, I guess. But it could also serve as a reminder to y'all and to my future self that <i>things get better</i>. Freshman year sucked. But I didn't run away; I stuck it out, and my life is beautiful now.<br />
<br />
If I had left Campbell, every single thing about my life would be different. I wouldn't have my suite mates, I probably wouldn't be dating Gem, and I wouldn't have had such amazing professors and therefore an amazing education. I wouldn't have had the same internships or tutoring experience or copy editing position at the paper.<br />
<br />
Everything is worth it. My one real regret in life, the one thing I've said I would change (not getting into Wake Forest) has ceased to be a regret. It is hard to say that given a do-over I wouldn't apply to Wake Forest. But it is a no-brainer to say that I am overjoyed to have gone to Campbell.<br />
<br />
Senior year, I'm {getting} ready for you.<br />
<br />
~Stephanie<br />
<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
Freshman</div>
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<br /></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
Sophomore</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<div style="text-align: center;">
Junior</div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
A few weeks ago XD</div>
Stephaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00008080252448136454noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1907897020139231814.post-63983164864470463382015-07-28T15:21:00.000-04:002015-07-28T15:21:08.570-04:00Some Kind of Validation<a href="http://reasonexrhyme.blogspot.com/2015/07/some-kind-of-validation.html" target="_blank">Some Kind of Validation</a><br />
<br />
~Stephanie<br />
<br />
P.S. The writing is going well. But let's not jinx things.Stephaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00008080252448136454noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1907897020139231814.post-91011782143213538282015-07-21T16:59:00.003-04:002015-07-21T16:59:58.810-04:00I Need Your HelpI'm going to start writing again. Real writing, as in "the stories that I've always wanted to write, but haven't because I'm lazy and terrified of failure."<br />
<br />
I am going to try to write "The Mirror." The problem is, I've started it three separate times. One version has over a hundred thousand words. One version has just over six thousand. The version I started today has four hundred and seventeen.<br />
<br />
It's all the same story, but the openings are all very, very different. Would you be willing to read the opening few paragraphs of each version and tell me which one you like the best?<br />
<br />
I'm going to post them here in case your answer is Yes. It would really help me to get some momentum if you'd help me out. I'm just so familiar with this story that I can't seem to see it well anymore. Kind of like missing the forest for the trees.<br />
<br />
Anyway, thanks in advance, maybe :) I'd appreciate the thoughts and prayers as I try to revive the near-dead writer in my heart.<br />
<br />
<u><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Version 1 (circa 2008)</b></span></u><br />
<br />
I should have known from the moment the idea came into my mind that I’d end up over my head in something I couldn’t control; that was usually the way things worked out, but never in a million years would I have dreamed anything could turn out so horrific.<br />
<br />
It all happened because I asked Darren Blackburn to the dance. Or at least I think it did.<br />
<br />
It’s not what you think. This is not your typical I-Wish-I’d-Never-Asked-That-Creep-That-Was-The-Worst-Night-Of-My-Life kind of thing. It really isn’t Darren’s fault. This horrific thing is something you’d never worry about when going on a “date.” I mean, who thinks as they look in the mirror one last time, “Gee, I really hope my date doesn’t have some terrible secret I should know about before I get swept up in something <i>TOTALLY OVER MY HEAD THAT I WILL NEVER BE ABLE TO GET OUT OF</i>.” Sorry. Like I said before, it really isn’t his fault—exactly.<br />
<br />
Okay. Not making any sense, am I? Um…okay…I’ll start at the beginning, but I’m not exactly sure where the beginning is. Okay. Here. I’ll try, but I’m warning you: I’m no good at storytelling, and telling your own life’s story is even harder<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><u>Version 2 (circa 2012)</u></b></span><br />
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<br />
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<span style="color: black;">I had
always been a reader.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I might say
“dreamer” if it weren’t for the dewy-eyed connotation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just loved books, and everything they
represented.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I loved persuasion,
knowledge, and words.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I craved adventure,
thrived on intrigue, and wanted to leave a glorious mark on the world.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;">At
fourteen, I began to untangle myself from the wild flights of fantasy and
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<span style="color: black;">It never
occurred to me to look for adventure in an old mirror, although I guess
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</span>Getting caught up in the whole Sorayoni thing didn’t fit my plan at all
(not that it fit Darren’s either).</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: black;">Looking
back on that night junior year, I always wonder if I’d do anything
differently.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even now, I’m not
sure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All I know is that I was entirely
too eager and had no idea what I was doing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>For a logical human being who reads so much, both those facts should
have been red flags.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Darren even tried
to warn me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I did what I did because
I was who I was, and it’s as simple (or as complicated) as that.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: black;">This
probably isn’t making that much sense.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
guess I’ll just do what one traditionally does in this position:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="color: black;">Start
from the beginning.</span></div>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><u>Version 3 (today)</u></b></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Growing up is a funny thing. When
you’re a kid, you assume that you’re old enough to…fill in the blank:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>cross the street, pour the milk, critique parenting
methods. Then for the next ten years, you make a habit of looking back and
rolling your eyes at your younger self:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>wow; how stupid, incapable, and naïve you were. Now, at this new age,
you <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">actually </i>know everything. In high
school, you hit the age where you’re grown up enough that it becomes acceptably
cool to like some childish things again, like Disney movies and playgrounds and
your old teddy bear.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Eventually, you grow to the point
where you are only certain of how little you know. You are only certain of how
uncertain life actually is. You look back at your younger self and covet that
innocence, that freedom of the soul, that psychological invincibility. Wanting
to be a grownup is the mark of a child; wanting to be a child is the mark of a
grownup.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
I don’t know at what age that natural
switch typically happens. All I know is that for me, it happened unnaturally,
atypically, and fantastically. And not “fantastically” as in “shockingly happy
beyond comprehension.” <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Fantastical</i>,
as in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">adj.: conceived or appearing as if conceived
by an unrestrained imagination; odd and remarkable; bizarre; grotesque.</i>
With an emphasis on the last two synonyms. And the “as if conceived by an
unrestrained imagination” part. Although, “odd and remarkable” more than hold
their own in the story I’m about to tell you.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
I’ve waited a long time to tell our
story, Darren’s and mine. Not because it’s too painful or unbelievable (though
it is both of those things), but because it’s too important to tell wrong. If I
tell it right, you might help me. If I tell it wrong, They might kill me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
At the beginning of our story, I
didn’t know any better. I was just a 15-year-old girl with a bookworm’s head
and <span style="color: #c00000;">magic-lover’s </span>heart. Somehow, I didn’t
get that when I really took the real red pill in real life, real shit would go
down. Somehow, my obscenely large mental collection of thriller movies and
well-written novels had failed to convince me that if I threw myself down the
rabbit hole, I would end up over my head in something I couldn’t control. I
guess on some level, I did know and did want that. But never in a million years
would I have dreamed anything could turn out so horrific.</div>
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><br />
<br />
~Stephanie Stephaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00008080252448136454noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1907897020139231814.post-42674434134787543772015-06-01T23:21:00.000-04:002015-06-01T23:21:40.516-04:00I've Been ReadingI've been able to start reading again.<br />
<br />
"Read," is the advice always given to budding writers. Actual practice helps your writing improve too, but reading... It seems to train your mind to Hear and See the world with capital Hs and Ss.<br />
<br />
When your car rushes through a rain puddle, the sound registers as "a lush hiss" instead of not registering at all. A dance recital audience reaction becomes "an appreciative rumble of laughter" instead of just "chuckling." You have conversations and naturally detect things like others' "clunky giddiness"or "apologetic authority."<br />
<br />
To me, words give the world more substance. When I read a lot, I start to sense the depth in the molecules around me. It's not like the world is brighter; it's like I start to see new colors. Everything isn't more beautiful, but everything is more intentional, specific. I'm not sitting on my couch; I'm sitting on My Couch, where I had a kiss that tasted like ramen, where I first fell asleep on Gem, where I once cried a tear stain into the cushion.<br />
<br />
When I immerse myself in words, everything feels more real. It's like tapping a secret source of energy.<br />
<br />
I guess this makes sense, seeing as the entire world is Words. "<span class="text Gen-1-1">In the beginning...</span><span class="text Gen-1-2" id="en-NIV-2">the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep... And God said, 'Let there be light,' and there was light."</span><br />
<br />
<span class="text Gen-1-2" id="en-NIV-2">This entire world is literally words. There was nothing, and then God spoke, and from His words came the existence that I now try to describe with my own words, like "lush hiss" and "appreciative rumble." Is that redundant? To use words in an attempt to express/describe/create a reality that is already so perfectly linguistically expressed that it is actually tangible?</span><br />
<span class="text Gen-1-2" id="en-NIV-2"><br /></span>
<span class="text Gen-1-2" id="en-NIV-2">"In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning."</span><br />
<span class="text Gen-1-2" id="en-NIV-2"><br /></span>
<span class="text Gen-1-2" id="en-NIV-2">Jesus is--maybe literally, maybe figuratively, maybe spiritually (which is probably some inexpressible middle ground there)--Words. God is Words. He made our world of words with His words. We are in this world, made in the image of God. We are spoken. We are words. The light is words; the water is words; the land is words; the day and night are words.</span><br />
<span class="text Gen-1-2" id="en-NIV-2"><br /></span>
<span class="text Gen-1-2" id="en-NIV-2">So yes, it makes sense that everything gets more beautiful and more real when I connect with words. Don't you understand the ocean better when you jump in?</span><br />
<span class="text Gen-1-2" id="en-NIV-2"><br /></span>
<span class="text Gen-1-2" id="en-NIV-2">Words are fun and powerful and persuasive and enduring and endearing and funny and piercing and beautiful and satisfying and frightening and dangerous. I like words, on principle, because I am a writer and a reader and I like to reason and persuade. But even deeper than that, I like words because I think they are cosmically important. When it all comes down to it, the world is just atoms and energy and space.</span><br />
<span class="text Gen-1-2" id="en-NIV-2"><br /></span>
<span class="text Gen-1-2" id="en-NIV-2">But when atoms and energy and space come down to it, they are all words.</span><br />
<span class="text Gen-1-2" id="en-NIV-2"><br /></span>
<span class="text Gen-1-2" id="en-NIV-2">~Stephanie</span>Stephaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00008080252448136454noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1907897020139231814.post-44938653822150283692015-03-23T18:54:00.002-04:002015-03-23T18:56:54.315-04:00On the Whole, the Best 365 Days Ever<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7cQGPTIkSytEJHdgD9FPEP_4yy8ZKahQBnQW3bhyexOQkXb_vpTAeaRufFHHg-jN0SCqI18jaODrbMCAs8RFWz_-mSuf_iCTJGfYFxUW1Im5r5rNhNiv5vggh6rzrnp3V3u6-s0VtAfk/s1600/One+Year.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7cQGPTIkSytEJHdgD9FPEP_4yy8ZKahQBnQW3bhyexOQkXb_vpTAeaRufFHHg-jN0SCqI18jaODrbMCAs8RFWz_-mSuf_iCTJGfYFxUW1Im5r5rNhNiv5vggh6rzrnp3V3u6-s0VtAfk/s1600/One+Year.jpg" height="436" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Left: this year's spring formal (Mafia themed). Right: last year's spring formal (Gatsby themed). </div>
<br />
"Maybe I'm just trying to find things that were wrong about that night,
because really, it throws a good cynic for a loop when an evening turns
out perfectly." - 20-year-old Me, <a href="http://theforbiddenme.blogspot.com/2014/03/so-gem-and-i.html" target="_blank">when Gem and I became "official"</a>--March 23, 2014.<br />
<br />
Today it has been a whole year, and I still feel like a cynic thrown for a loop. How has this past year been real?<br />
<br />
I honestly don't know what it would have been like without Gem. Possible, certainly, but not much besides that. Junior year of college has been an utterly indescribable beast (and I'm still not convinced that I'll make it out alive); Gem has kept me saner and happier than I could have been otherwise.<br />
<br />
I remember in <a href="http://theforbiddenme.blogspot.com/2014/06/here-have-some-sap.html" target="_blank">June (head-over-heels in love</a>, all blushing and lightheartedness and sparkles and warm fuzzies) thinking "Dang. This can't last. It's gonna suck when this feeling wears off." But guess what?<br />
<br />
It hasn't worn off.<br />
<br />
Sure, there's been arguing and frustration and embarrassment, but I sit here today and blush over how good he looked at this year's spring formal, and smile when I think about seeing him again, and sparkle when someone asks about him, and fill with warmth when I think about the little things.<br />
<br />
Little things like how in a big city, when we're about to have to run across the street before the light changes, he always glances back and holds his hand out for me. How I told him <i>one time</i> that I think guy should open the girl's car door on special occasions, and now he remembers every time. Or how whenever I say I'm feeling lonely, the next thing I know, he's FaceTiming me. Or how he still asks me out on Dates even though "we're already dating," because he says he loves taking me places.<br />
<br />
I love dating him. He's the one I would choose, 100% of the time :)<br />
<br />
I don't let him read this blog, but I'm gonna say it here anyway: "Happy Anniversary, Gem!"<br />
<br />
~Stephanie<br />
<br />
P.S. I will try to post something not Gem-related soon.Stephaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00008080252448136454noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1907897020139231814.post-26750771322561866692015-02-16T21:46:00.000-05:002015-02-16T22:01:17.535-05:00Guilt, Fifty Shades, and Valentine's Day {all unrelated, believe it or not}Let me tell you a little something about myself (because after reading my thoughts for four years, you know nothing, of course): When I feel bad about how long it's taking me to do something, I continue to not do it.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Examples:</b></span><br />
- Justin texted me on February 11 asking if I was on campus because he was visiting. I was busy and didn't reply that day. I feel bad. So I still haven't replied.<br />
- I have been working on a promotional piece for someone's website since the beginning of the year. She emailed me with some critique at the beginning of this month. I was swamped in schoolwork and didn't know what to do about it. So I temporarily ignored it. I feel bad. So I am still ignoring it.<br />
- James wrote me a letter about ten months ago. It was amazingly great. I didn't write back right away. I felt bad. So I still haven't written back.<br />
- I haven't blogged since Christmas Eve. I feel bad about it. So I've been not blogging.<br />
<br />
Hi? *sheepish look*<br />
<br />
{But I mean, in addition to all the guilty feels, I have also been swamped in homework and all the, like, not responding to other stuff, so...}<br />
<br />
I also haven't had anything to say, besides life updates, which is kind of not what this blog was intended for, you know? It was supposed to be social commentary and life hacks and sort of pointless well-written pieces. It has mostly devolved into me alternately whining about school work and gushing about Gem.<br />
<br />
Hey speaking of Gem. Doesn't he look like the world's most precious and endearing squirrel in this picture?<br />
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<br />
Yeah. But really, back off; he's mine.<br />
<br />
I really wanted to post a response to all the commotion about "Fifty Shades of Grey" (Gray? Grey.), but...I dunno. It seemed pointless. People who hate it already know why they hate it. People who like it also know why people who hate it hate it. It's not really complicated. But if I were going to post about it, I would probably make these three points:<br />
<br />
1) <u><b>BDSM is not going to send you to Hell</b></u>, so stop condemning people who like it rough. However, what is depicted in "Fifty Shades" isn't necessarily how "correct" BDSM is supposed to work. So. That's not good.<br />
2) I have read a lot of "Fifty Shades," and <u><b>it is an absolute disgrace to good writing.</b></u> I am 100%, utterly, unreservedly certain that I can write better erotica than that. Hands down. Not even kidding. If it weren't immoral I would offer to send you proof. "Fifty Shades" completely disgusted me from an artistic standpoint. This is honestly what infuriates me the most about the whole thing. If someone ever writes an erotic novel that is good, I will review it and admit it. It can be done well--not MORALLY, but at least ARTISTICALLY. Which brings me to...<br />
3)<b> <u>It's definitely porn.</u> </b>There is nothing classy or artistic about it, it is just straight up girl porn and not well done. See point two. Maybe if it were actually well-written it could at least be artistically valuable, but it's literary shit.<br />
<br />
Alrighty. I am now dragging myself away from this topic. I don't think any more needs to be said from me. It would get ramble-y. {That being said, if you have questions or vehement disagreement or anything, I would be glad to listen and respond.}<br />
<br />
Mmm. That's enough content for now. I really do have school work to do.<br />
<br />
Here what else has been up, just btw.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Passion Conference 2015 </b></span><br />
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<br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>I Turned 21</b></span><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
{I also went "out," of course, but there are not very good pictures from that.}</div>
<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
My suite mates threw me a surprise party when I got back :3 They are seriously the best.</div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>I Celebrated My First "Real" Valentine's Day </b></span>(i.e. with a boyfriend who did more than just text me "Happy V. Day" at some point during the 24-hour span)<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
We went to a local state park, which was gorgeous.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
Then got cleaned up and headed to a restaurant, where we ate the best food I think I've ever had. Not even kidding. When we tried the chocolate lava cake dessert, we just lost it. Did not even try to be mature adults about it. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
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~StephanieStephaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00008080252448136454noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1907897020139231814.post-7535808722545193692014-12-24T14:00:00.000-05:002014-12-24T14:00:00.084-05:00From Christmas 201312/24/13 <br />
<br />
Dear Christmas 2014 Eve Stephanie,<br />
<br />
Hey :) How are you? I come bringing you good news. Would you like to hear it?<br />
<br />
You are in a better place than me! Isn't that a relief? I am so happy for you. I worked really hard to get you here. I dedicated myself to my school work, and opened myself up to new friends, and tried to get deeper with God, and wrote more, and read more, and pushed Sam to the right place on my priority list.<br />
<br />
You are the result of a very difficult Christmas 2013, and probably a pretty tearful following New Year's Eve. How do you feel? Pearls are made from being trapped. A phoenix rises stronger from the ashes. Diamonds form under great pressure.<br />
<br />
You a pearl, a phoenix, and a diamond, produced from the captivity, heat, and pressure I'm feeling right now. I'm so glad that you're alive. Aren't you glad? Isn't it nice just to be alive?<br />
<br />
I don't care if you have a boyfriend or not :) If you do, I trust that you think a lot of him and the two of you are a reasonable kind of happy. If you don't, keep believing that God has someone good for you, someone who will ask you on real dates, and write you letters, and pray with you, and make you laugh, and propel his own life forwards.<br />
<br />
I hope you're loving being an English major. I think you are, even if you've been frustrated this year. You love words so much. Just think about how you feel when you read a good book, and how powerful writing inspiration is. So many people have told met hat I'm a good writer, so you must be even better. Remember, every time you think you've lost your touch, you read and love something you wrote LAST time you thought you lost your touch. Things go in cycles. You're destined to write something worth it, I'm sure. Believe that.<br />
<br />
You're not fat. Don't even think that. You look great, I'm totally sure. I'm going to make sure of it.<br />
<br />
I bet you have time to read a whole book between now and when you go back to school. Go for it!<br />
<br />
Please don't be sad :) I'm fighting considerable sadness myself, and the thought of you being happy is one of the only things keeping me going.<br />
<br />
Love you, Stephanie of Christmas 2014! I hope your first year out of the teens has been alright!<br />
<br />
~Christmas 2013 StephanieStephaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00008080252448136454noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1907897020139231814.post-53073316237318719312014-11-29T14:40:00.001-05:002014-11-29T14:42:16.199-05:00Thankful. Or "Hashtag Blessed," If You WillThis has been an enigmatic Thanksgiving.<br />
<br />
I got home on Monday night with two term papers to write completely. They have made me stressed, irritable, and unable to relax. {I still love being an English major. But really, fml.} As I type this, I have one complete rough draft of one paper {due Monday}. Today I will research and outline for the other {due Tuesday}, and write it tomorrow and Monday.<br />
<br />
I really need an A on both papers. Unfortunately, I think I only have the time, energy, and resources to pull out Cs or Bs. But hey. In five days, it'll be over. For better or for worse, in five days there will be nothing I can do and I am pretty damn sure I can live with that.<br />
<br />
For the next fifty minutes, I am giving myself a break. I will eat lunch, and I will blog. Because deep down inside, I'm actually perversely happy. This Thanksgiving has kind of sucked, but at the same time, it's been uniquely great. I want to take some time and Be Thankful since I didn't actually do it on Facebook like everyone else on the planet.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;">Family</span><br />
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<br />
Or more specifically, a Mom who's like my best friend, partner in crime, and confidante now {when did she stop judging me and start being my ally?}; a Daddy who always looks for the best in every person and every situation; and a sister who I would CHOOSE to hang out with pretty much any day of the week.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Roommates</span><br />
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<br />
Or more specifically, Harley {the redhead with the thumbs up}. Harley is my best friend at school. We get along flawlessly. I think we're the only two in the apartment who haven't gotten on each others' nerves. I help her with her papers; she lets me use her printer. She washes the dishes; I pick up her late-night cravings on my way back from work. There are no conversational boundaries. We laugh til we cry. And we form a Thermostat Team against Mary and Allison who like the apartment to be Hot As Actual Balls.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;">Internship</span><br />
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Yeah, it totally sucked away all my homework hours and made me have to do these papers over freaking Thanksgiving. BUT it also introduced me to the world's best boss, the world's coolest coworker, the world's greatest coffee, and a lot of unbelievable opportunities for the future. So cheers.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">SRMUN</span><br />
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<br />
The Southern Regional Model United Nations conference. Like the internship, this conference kind of made my life Hell and contributed to having to do papers over freaking Thanksgiving. BUT AGAIN, I met amazing people, made hilariously awesome and eye-opening memories, and opened excellent future doors. So I am thankful it happened.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Cassidy {on the right}</span><br />
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Who apparently doesn't have any recent pictures of just herself. So I am also thankful for Allison on the left. But Cassidy is the girl I am closest to on the planet. I can't live without Sarah, and Harley is my everyday buddy, but Cassidy knows it all. She supports me, listens to me, advises me, helps me see things more clearly {including myself}. We laugh together, have those eye conversations, discuss makeup, discuss people, discuss futures. She may or may not have a Pinterest board dedicated to MY wedding one day... She's gorgeous, brilliant, loyal, hilarious, and I am so lucky to have her in my life.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;">No More Wisdom Teeth</span><br />
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Seriously. Having my wisdom teeth removed had been hanging over my head for like a decade.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;">The Road Trip</span><br />
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<br />
After three years of joking around, we took the trip of a lifetime. Those laughs, pains, sights, sounds, smells, tastes, and stories will be a highlight of my life until I die. I'm sure. From sharing a tent, to belting out songs in the car, to seeing the St. Louis Arch, to walking around Chicago at night... There are no words. Just trust me when I say this trip easily ranks in the top five Best Experiences of My Life.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;">Working Out</span><br />
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<br />
The place, the ability, the people to do it with. I love feeling strong and healthy.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;">This Kid</span><br />
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I'm sorry. I'm just really, really, inappropriately, overpoweringly happy that I'm dating him. I'm not even gonna try to be sarcastic and offhand about this. I'm in love with him and I think he's amazing.<br />
<br />
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<br />
He's the kind of guy who would like to spend an evening playing cards, but went out clubbing with me anyway.<br />
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He's the kind of guy who gave up forty-five minutes and a lot of convenience to figure out a way to watch A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving with me.<br />
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<br />
He's the kind of guy who buys me books and reads <i>Paradise Lost</i> for me even though he's not an epic poetry fan.<br />
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He's the kind of guy who can both make me blush and make me feel genuinely valued.<br />
<br />
I've been lost in love before, and it almost destroyed me. But being lost in love with Gem feels an awful lot like being Found.<br />
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<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;">Runners Up for Most Appreciated In My Life:</span><br />
1. ChapStick<br />
2. Coffee<br />
3. New windshield wipers<br />
4. That hangnail finally leaving<br />
5. Not having to have braces<br />
6. Chocolate<br />
<br />
And also, thank YOU for sticking with me :) I really do love you guys.<br />
<br />
~StephanieStephaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00008080252448136454noreply@blogger.com1