Just a quick Pro-Choice opinion.
I’m living across the street from a Planned Parenthood, and this morning there were a couple vehicles with huge signs attached to the backs, sporting large photos of aborted fetuses and the words: ‘ABORTION IS MURDER’ all over them. There are many picketers walking the sidewalks with their anit-abortion signs and slogans, and I wonder: if they are so committed to calling for the illegalization of abortion, then what do they personally think the punishment for illegal abortion violators should be? What would they condemn women who get an abortion with—what punishment?
I just want to walk up to them and ask. But if I did ask, I fear they will fail to give me a straight answer, and just fall back on the age-old argument that abortion is a form of murder. It’s exhausting to make a case against a blind arguer who knows so little about what they demand, that they quit before any real ground is covered. And it’s even more tiresome that these picketers feel that regardless of what the punishment is assigned to violators, the act of abortion should still be illegal, as long as they don’t have to feel like they are the stone throwers. So much for their courageous crusade…
I’ve heard many people argue that since they are not lawyers, they can not answer what punishment would fit such a “crime,” but then again, my own argument is: I’m not lawyer either, but even I can argue for the side of pro-choice without being ashamed of what I believe (like they seem so afraid to hand out punishment.)
To prove my point, here is my argument: First of all, a fetus is not biologically recognized as ‘sapien’ yet, according to its definition. Even at week 20, a fetus is NOT capable of autonomic life. What does this say to me? It says that by anatomical definition, a fetus could be no more classified than as a growth until at least the 26th week from conception, when the lungs can handle air without the aid of a machine or the womb. Conclusively, I assure my audience that a fetus cannot be murdered, and therefore women who have an abortion cannot be accused of such a crime. Without a crime, the act of abortion cannot be illegalized, as the pro-life supporters claim.
Further, because the fetus itself is incapable of living on it’s own apart from it’s parent host (the pregnant mother), I feel it is comparable to when a doctor must sever someone’s arm. An arm or leg cannot live apart from the body, but we don’t accuse an amputee of murder, even though the former appendage had suffered a “death” of sorts after being removed from the body. Personally, I think that until a child is born and capable of autonomic survival outside the womb, it is not a ‘sapien’ life form or a “human being” deserving of more rights than its parent host. The women who are alive and want the right to choose should be allowed such a privilege. After all, she is able to survive as a person– an autonomic and sound life. But that’s just my thoughts on the matter. Maybe I’m wrong.
But if I am, may God strike me down for believing that life is more complicated to achieve than mere conception.
Oh, and in challenge to my Pro-Life readers: If you could answer my question for me noted in bold at the top of this blog post, I’d appreciate it, and even state publically that you deserve a cookie.
Pastor Matt Trewhella: LORD HAVE MERCY
Warning: THIS IS A RANT’S RANT. Click the link to view the source of today’s vehement outrage.
If this imbecile of a pastor’s version of Christianity is an accurate representation of the faith, then I’m proud to be a heathen. If he’s right and this weblog entry is proselytizing God’s intent for the people of this planet, then I’ll escort myself to Hell. AND I’ll be happy to endure the lake of fire because it’s better than this lame-ass idea of a woman’s place. I want to throttle this man… Gahrg!
Forgive the automatopea, but this is really aggravating on one of those really personal levels where it’s taking all my willpower not to growl out loud and start barking with fury. For those of you who do not want to take the time to read the whole article, let me quote some zingers I want to obliterate with a bazooka!
Lovely little ditty number one:
“I was never keen on McCain to begin with, and his decision to add a woman to his ticket sealed my decision. I won’t vote for them. Why? Because I’m a sexist (as many accuse)? No. But because I’m a theist … I believe in the God of the Bible and I want to see my life conducted according to His Word, and the life of our nation reflect the teaching of His Word. I will not throw my vote behind the Christ-hating egalitarian agenda of the socialist elitists of this nation.”
I know. It’s hard to contain your emotion, isn’t it? I don’t even have to work at rebuttal on this, but for the sake of getting it off my chest, I have to reply: What the fnck? *(and insert incredulous blinking here) At first I had this feeling of “oh did he just go there?” Upon reading further, that feeling evolved (in true Darwinian fashion) into something along the lines of “I MUST DESTROY THIS REPUGNANT MISCONCEPTION!”
First of all, I don’t even like Sarah Palin, but holy shit! You can call this woman all kinds of things, but a “Christ-hating egalitarian socialist elitists” is NOT one of them! And I know. I’ve called her everything else! She’s actually the very opposite of what this ridiculous pastor assumes her to be. She’s not a Christ-hater. In fact, if anything, she’s on Jesus’s hockey team. And they invited the dinosaurs to play the visitor’s team (I’m pretty sure Sarah believes the terrible lizards walked the earth the same time as man.) Let’s see, what’s next. Ah, yes. She’s not an egalitarian, either. If she were, than she wouldn’t make such a big deal out of “insiders,” “outsiders,” or “mavericks.” True egalitarians are fair and patient with everyone, and personally, I find little wrong with that. She’s not a socialist. Republicans seem to fight tooth and nail against democracy becoming even slightly more socialist than it already is. (Again, I’m not sure leaning to a more socialist government isn’t such a bad thing. I’m not saying we should be socialist, but taking on a few more characteristics wouldn’t hurt us right now.) And finally, “elitist.” Seriously? Elitist is the best he can come up with? Everyone is an elitist in politics, and everyone is better than the other guy when running for office. What is this idiot trying to say here?
Lovely little ditty number two:
“John McCain and the Republicans will now use the Christians to further this God-hating agenda in the earth, and most Christians, being devoid of a biblical worldview, will not even recognize how they are being used. There is something unnatural and perverse about men rallying around a woman to lead them. But an effeminized church leads to an effeminized nation.”
This man must never curse his parents, trim his beard, plant wheat and barley in the same furrow, eat pork, wear polyester or masturbate. (Thanks R. Zimmerman for the Leviticus sermon!) He might lay with dudes though. Who knows…
Lovely little ditty number three:
“For those who are horror stricken that Obama might get in with such thinking as mine being propagated, let me tell you, our nation is worthy of Obama – just as it is worthy of a female leader. The state of our nation is rebellion against the Lord. The state of manhood in our nation is at an all-time low (as evidenced by the tolerance and proliferation of homosexuality). The state of the church is abysmal.”
I puked a little in mouth. But hey, my response to this comes in two parts. Part One: The dismal state of the Church and Nation is because of chauvinistic cavemen like Pastor Matt Trewhella. Part Two:
Who’s a terrorist? Gag me, Palin.
Well blow me. The Republicans have their panties all in knotty wedgies again. Okay, forgive me, dear readers, but this blog is going to be another bitching, informal spout off about how irritated I get from the McCain/Palin ticket. Alright, so yesterday Palin started foaming at the mouth about Obama’s relationship with Billy Ayers, the 1960’s extremist who in the early 1970’s attacked the pentagon and capitol with a group of underground militant hippies. FYI, Obama was 8 years old at the time of the attacks, so lumping him into terrorism for being an acquaintance with the guy some 35+ years later just ties my testicles in a knot. Here’s a direct quote from Palin on about the “friendship:”
“This is not a man who sees America as you see it, and how I see America. […] We see America as the greatest force for good in this world. If we can be that beacon of light and hope for others who seek freedom and democracy and can live in a country that would allow intolerance in the equal rights that again our military men and women fight for and die for all of us. […] Our opponent though, is someone who sees America, it seems, as being so imperfect that he’s palling around with terrorists who would target their own country.”
The New York Times article that I got yesterday’s quote from also stated immediately after that information, “The article to which she referred, in The New York Times on Saturday, traced Mr. Obama’s sporadic interactions with Bill Ayers, a founder of the Weathermen who later became an education professor in Chicago and worked on education projects there with Mr. Obama, the Democratic nominee for president.” Right, so they were practically neighbors and co-workers. They probably called each other “friends” as many people do with acquaintances they see on a daily basis.
Hell, I have a “friend” that I grew up with who (once was an innocent child but) is now a cocaine addict drunk who is so promiscuous that she started having sex with this random guy who came over to her house party a few years ago while I stepped outside to answer a phone call. She and her momentary beau didn’t bother to quit or finish up in a bedroom when I came back into her living room, but decided their drunken passion wouldn’t be bothered by my presence. I’d never do what this girl does, and I don’t approve of it, but it’s not my business to tell her what or what not to do, and I guarantee I’ll not end up in a similar situation again… so does that make me a drunk, promiscuous coke addict by association? No. So does living in the same city and working at the same place as Billy Ayers make Obama a fncking terrorist? Well sure it does! Not.
People should not be judged by the company they keep; it’s not fair. Everyone has a friend or two that they just don’t agree with, but still have heart enough to be kind and friendly toward them. Hell, Joe Biden is friends with McCain. I don’t judge him for it. Obama’s wife creeps me out, but I don’t judge him for it. I question what he sees in her, but I do not fault him for it. There’s more to a person than the people they talk to or party with. Lots more. It even goes as far as family. I have family members I disagree with and some I don’t even like (none of them are in my immediate family), but I’ll still sit down to a Christmas dinner with them. You gonna fault me for that? I do it to keep the whole family at peace, not because I agree with them. I just can’t understand what drives people judge others based on who they drink with or who they talk to or who they sent chain emails too. If I were the people I hang out with, I should be under house arrest, in rehab, therapy, and six feet under. But I’m not. I’m Jenai, an individual who doesn’t judge people the way fncking Palin does. I judge people on what they do and say for themselves. I judge Palin for her own fnckups, not the fnckups of her friends and family. But I guarantee if Palin were to judge me, she’d tell people I’m a bad person because of who I went to a pool hall with three years ago. She really REALLY pisses me off. And anyone who shares her opinions and stupidity breaks my heart.
But let me play devil’s advocate for a moment, just to make a point. Let’s say that I’m okay with Palin attacking Obama for the company he keeps. Let’s say that her argument is legit… she thought she’d be all smooth referencing a NY Times article that suggested a friendship between the Obama and Ayers, but guess what! Palin failed to mention the article very pointedly explained “the two men do not appear to have been close. Nor has Mr. Obama ever expressed sympathy for the radical views and actions of Mr. Ayers, whom he has called ’somebody who engaged in detestable acts 40 years ago, when I was 8.’” Jezuz, the two had not spoken over the phone or by e-mail since Obama came to the U.S. Senate three years ago. What’s her damn problem?
My References:
New York Times A
New York Times B
CNN
Oh, and who is Palin calling a terrorist anyway? I could give several reasons how Palin is more of a terrorist than Obama. She terrorizes the crap out of me… oh by the way, there are many Alaskans who don’t like her either. Check this out:
Random side note: This is serious. We should call all Republican-Hippy cross breeds “Sarah Palins.”
Ennui life and style version 09.16
It started about sixish. Actually, I can’t really remember. All I can remember is the spicy tofu. And the nigh empty theatre. I was promised our evening would last until 11 pm, if not midnight. I was told so, anyhow. But alas. Spicy tofu, three men dead, cosmetic surgery, and one flight to Venezuela. Then 10:21pm, and I’m already home. Alone. Tomorrow is his birthday, too. But I can’t be with him then. Nor can I ever as of the 20th. Unless he decides Thanksgiving is a go. Go. Please go. But I don’t count on him. So. I’m home at 10:23pm. He’s gone to sleep. I don’t blame him. So. Much.
My hair is crispy and it makes me wonder why I try at all. I need to shower but I don’t want to cry. Does that ever happen to you? The shower makes it seem okay to cry because no one can tell the difference between the tap and the tears? As if anyone would be showering with you to make the distinction. But no, you are crying alone, so there is no possibility for deceptions. But you fool yourself, none the less. Every time you convince yourself it’s just how life is and it’s no one’s fault. Shower water is wet like tears, it doesn’t mean you are crying. But I don’t want to shower after coming home. 10:30pm is not 11:00 or midnight. It’s not companionable. It doesn’t feel any warmer.
My hair is coated in toxins. Dusty. Style from an aerosol can. It’s hard without looking it. Like a lion. Or a glass of gin on the living room table. Straight up. I could drink it now. I thought it was water. I fell for my own set up. 10:33pm and already tricking myself into a stupor. My hair is hard. My head is hard. My heart is still beating. Always a good sign. I don’t expect it should have any difficulty. It’s a good heart. It has no enemies. Or takers.
…just many people close to it. But not enough to smother. I smother. I sigh for comfort. Or no reason. He sighs when he’s too tired to find reason enough. There’s always reason enough to stay until 11pm. Or midnight. And definitely 10:23pm. So he settled there. And now it’s 10:38pm, complete with crunchy hair, empty house, early evening, and leftover tofu stew. There’s just one thing to do now. Publish my ennui tonight, scheduled for appearance tomorrow, unglorified, uncanny, and unhappy. Unfair does not describe this night. Brittle does.
Job hunting and cyber meth labs.
Well, I started it. I have been filling out cheapo online resumes and job applications for English Teachers in Asia all morning. So far I’ve only applied to a couple schools. Like four, really. And then I gave up for the day, because about 18 that I tried applying to wouldn’t let me complete an application because I was not living in the country now! It was heart breaking that I do not qualify because I’m on the wrong side of the big puddle. Well, the whole thing just flat did it for my bad mood. So like any other irritable person would do, I’m going to take my anger out on my blog.
AAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AH!.
I just don’t even have the will to blog about anything exciting right now. Seems like the only thoughts running through my mind are the unfortunate ones. I mean, really, how can I afford to live overseas to apply to jobs? I need money to live overseas, which I won’t have without a job, and if I can’t live overseas I can’t get a good job… DOES ANYONE ELSE SEE THE PARADOX HERE? I know this is not as big of a problem as my reaction to it would imply, but I haven’t had a good drama queen moment in so long that I felt overdue.
And anyway, my mind has not been stimulated well lately. Point in case, I just read this random guy’s retarded blog where he was complaining about this other random, no-one girl who was flirting back and forth with Pete Wentz (Fall Out Boy) on his MySpace and then went to meet him at one of his shows (because allegedly he asked her to) and was crushed to find out he is engaged to Ashley Simpson (another lame music icon) who happened to be on tour with him. So the whole point of his blog was an excuse to call Wentz a cad or something for “internet cheating” on Simpson because of a stupid fan crush gone wrong. I should just read Dickens, James, and Norris for a while—just to get the toxins out of my head. Lately I’ve been addicted to clicking the random button on blog websites and getting some of the most tasteless written drivel known to exist in cyber space. Why do I do it? It’s nothing but cyber meth. Hell, my own blog is a cyber meth lab. I might just be poisoning the minds of other poor addicted blog readers who share my own sick pastime.
What has the world come to? I need a job, a life, a change of scenery, and a martini.
And now the news. Don’t touch that dial.
I love reading the news. It’s nigh a spiritual thing. Every morning, I wake up, brush my teeth, put on my glasses, and log on to the net, where I spend countless seconds searching for the most outrageous stories of the day to fulfill an emptiness in my life. I generally feel good to be alive after reading the news, as well as refreshed. Today, I will report the news to you as I see fit to: through sex, drugs, and rock ‘n roll.
MOVIES!
So Kevin Smith is making a movie about making a movie that just happens to be a porn. It’s called Zack and Miri Make A Porno. (The official movie poster is banned in the US because of the word “Porno.”) I figure this movie for K. Smith is just like making a porn himself, only he wont take the blame if it’s horrible. His characters will. Brilliant! Safe as a condom. But I’m wondering if we’re ready for film makers making films about making sex films. I mean, we’re used to our film makers making crappy CG movies, and in some cases paying people to have sex… but not paying them to act out paying others who will act out having sex. I’m just glad Jason Mewes has a small part. This is too much a “his kind of movie.”
WORLD NEWS!
Xiguang, the 4 year old Chinese bull elephant, was recently declared Drug Free after three years of rehab for his heroin addiction. Sources say that Xiguang (“Big Brother”) had been fed heroin-laced bananas by poachers attempting to subdue and control him before being rescued and treated for his obvious dependence on the forbidden fruit. Police say the elephant had been showing signs of withdrawal shortly after rescue, and had been put on a rehabilitation treatments shortly after. Treatment included methadone injections at five times the human dosage. Now clean, Xiguang is expected to live out his drug-free life at a wildlife park in Kunming, the capital of his home province of Yunnan in mainland China.
MUSIC!
So, yeah, 72-year old Glen Campbell (or maybe you know him better as the “Rhinestone Cowboy” singer from the 70’s) is releasing his first major album in twenty-years. That’s right, his latest album “Meet Glen Campbell” features cover songs from U2, Green Day, and the Foo Fighters. I’m sure he’ll be getting cards and letters from people he doesn’t even know about his choice in cover songs, while he treads on a road that has long since been star spangled. He must be on a pretty high horse being as old as he is and singing songs written by artists young enough to be his children… or grandchildren. But hey, who am I to judge a music legend? You’ll have to hear his new album for yourself and be the judge.
That’s all for today, dear readers. Seeya tomorrow.
A Child of Thursday (At least I love September!)
What I’m about to talk about has little relevance to it being Monday, but bear with me. Well, it’s Labor Day, too—also nothing to do with what I’m going to talk about. Sorry, it’s not like I have anything better to do—well, I do have much I should be doing, but I’m taking the day off in lieu of laboring my life away. And I guess since I’m not an athlete I can enjoy a holiday if I choose to. (That was an inside joke, ignore it.)
Alright, that was too much bullshit for the day. Well, actually this entire musing is probably going to be nothing but bullshit to most of you, but again, I have this habit of procrastinating, and so here we go!
Many of you by now should know inside and out my absolute abhorrence for Thursdays. And if you didn’t, well I do. In fact, I loath, detest, hate, and disapprove of the fifth day of the week. I’ve always said there was no good reason for them. All they do is prolong the coming of Friday and make the week feel as if it will never end. Plus, nothing ever seems to go right on a Thursday in my life, and for most of my existence, the shittiest things that happen always land on a Thursday. I can’t think of an example, so you’ll just have to take me at my word for now.
I also hate the number six, because the sound and look of it turns my stomach inside out—kind of like listening to John Meyer. (I think I first heard one of his songs on a Thursday…) Anyway, I will go out of my way not to buy anything that comes in six packs, and try not to make any travel plans on the sixth of any month. Six AM or PM also are troublesome times for me, because if I’m going to get into a serious fight that ends in sudden death with anyone, it usually happens around that time. Again, I can’t think of anything specific, but I’m serious about the evil surrounding that number.
Alright, so you’re probably noticing that it is also not the sixth of the month, nor is it 6AM or PM when I wrote this… so why am I bringing it up? What had me thinking of these odd annoyances in my life?
Well, the number six is exactly why I bring it up. My birthday is the 6th of September. It’s coming up on me fast, and I’m kind of nervous that I won’t really get a good shot at celebrating… most of my birthdays are moved so that they do not fall on the sixth or on a Thursday. But here’s the interesting thing: Why would the number six suck for me, if it were the day I was born? It’s not like I am anti-self, nor do I hate the fact that I’m alive. I’m actually fond of my life for the most part. Could be better, but it’s by no means bad. It’s rather pleasant in a tacky 80’s soap opera kind of way.
So it was my realization that my birthday is the sixth day of the month that I began to question what day of the week I was born on. I looked it up, and sure as shit, I was born on a Thursday. What does this all mean?!
No, really, I’m asking what you think?
It gets better! I started to do a little research on Thursday, September 6th, 1984. I learned some very interesting/disturbing coincidences about the day, my life, and my personality/temperament/outlook on life. I’m beginning to really believe there is an ultimate design to the universe. (Most of you know I’m also not a Christian, but very spiritual, so this may or may not surprise you.)
Anyway, I wanted to share with you what I’ve learned about myself, and those of you who have any knowledge about my character or general personality can see what I mean by creepy coincidences. I also urge you my readers to check into your own birthdays and whatnot and see what you come across.
Alright. Let’s start with the general day: Thursday. Have you ever heard this poem?
Monday’s child is fair in face,
Tuesday’s child is full of grace,
Wednesday’s child is full of woe,
Thursday’s child has far to go,
Friday’s child is loving and giving,
Saturday’s child is works hard for a living.
But the Child born on the Sabbath day
is bonny and bright, good and gay.
Anyway, as a Child of Thursday, having far to go makes sense to me. I’ve never lived in the same house for more than 2 years my whole life. In the last ten years, I’ve lived in two different countries, going on three, and 3 different US states. I’m actually considering moving to pretty much every country I would like to travel to for work, just because I’ll never afford to vacation there… so why not work there? Makes sense to me. But then it brings me back to being a Child of Thursday.
Random note: I also stumbled across a song in my search that I’d not heard forever and never realized the name… it’s by David Bowie (one of my favorite artists). It’s called Thursday’s Child. The lyrics were haunting when I listened to it again. I don’t know why I never paid them any mind before. I also felt gypped, because I checked to see if David Bowie was a Child of Thursday like me, and he’s not. Born on a Wednesday. I feel lied to, but whatever. It’s in the past. Moving on.
Alright, then I found out that there are colors associated specific days of they year. They do not correspond with any form of Astrology… and I’m not sure how they were deciphered, but the color explanation for my birthday was so dead on, that I cannot deny there isn’t some bit of truth driving it.
March 1st-10th and September 3rd-12th is Aqua. The meaning of Aqua is this: You are inconstant as far as your feelings are concerned. You are a compulsive loner and like to travel a lot. You are credulous. It’s hard to find love for you. Once you stumble upon love, you get lost in it easily. You are prone to get hurt in love.
First, I was insulted. I do not think I’m inconstant with my emotions, but then again, I’ve been so moody lately, that maybe it’s time to reconsider my self-perception. I can’t argue the compulsive loner bit or the liking to travel a lot, because these two go hand in hand for me. I travel so much that I have to be a loner to some degree. I also couldn’t deny being credulous. I would believe anything when I was younger. I’m still prone and want to believe anything and everything, but I believe that my gullible past has hardened me by now to not be so naive. So, thank you, Mr. Experience.
About having a hard time finding love, well, let’s just say that I’m fortunate to have found it… but unfortunately I can’t have it. So for me, it’s more like “finding a replacement love is going to be a bitch.” I sometimes worry that anyone I find in the future will not compare or make me feel as complete as the love I have just out reach. Most of you know what I’m talking about, but for those of you who don’t, I’ve been in a decidedly short-term/temporary relationship (many would call it “friends with benefits”—a term I hate) for 4 years now with a man I loved the moment I touched his hand. We’re nothing more than best friends. Although we have a special relationship, he does not feel that I’m the love for him, despite he is obviously the perfect love for me. I think that is where fate is truly cruel. There is someone out there for everyone. He or she just might not be looking for you in return.
Anyway, that was my sob story, but this story doesn’t end with that. There’s more. And real quick before I get to that, I just have to say right here and now, “Aqua” or sea-foam green is my favorite color. Or at least one of them. Pretty much any tropical color that can be found in the seas of the Caribbean can subdue and calm my soul. I’ve been accused of having a watery temperament before, so it makes sense, despite being an earth sign.
And on that note, a watery temperament would not be complete without some kind of astrological explanation. Well, I shit not; the Egyptian astrological chart has my answer. I’m the Nile. The explanation for the Nile (or “Nil”) sign is:
“The Nile is a river whose steadiness is interrupted by floods of incredible abundance. Like an artery in which the blood and salt of the maternal body of the Land of Egypt circulate the sacred rivers fertilizes the earth with its rich deposits. It is there where the papyrus, reeds, millet, sorghum and ritual flowers grow; civilization is born. Those born under this sign are peacemakers, lovers of refinement and owe it to themselves to live in an awakened state. They are receptive to all the riches they bring to their surroundings. The “Nile people” are wise, tolerant and capable of motherly tenderness towards all those who desire to break loose from ignorance. But, like this river that spews forth layers of fertile silt and corrosive deposits, they are subject to changing moods.”
So, well, how do I like them apples? Actually, I’m not sure what I think about all these coincidences, but I can tell you one thing, I’m not being as credulous as my descriptions suggest because I believe in this kind of stuff. After all, most of this information is compiled from nothing more than scientific statistics research. And hey, if you don’t believe there is a science to Astrology or Horoscopes or other divination methods, that’s okay. For me, it’s the same as people who believe in angels or love at first sight. I don’t doubt what they believe, so I won’t question it.
Hell, it’s the same as people developing judgments about someone they met only once—you know, when you that someone say, “Well, I don’t really know him, but I get a bad feeling from him,” or “There’s something about him I just don’t like.” There’s no real evidence or reason for why someone would believe his or her gut feeling, but it’s often not questioned, because it’s basically passed off as instinct (be it accurate or paranoid). Well, I have this gut feeling that the statistics that make up Astrology have some weight to them, especially when the coincidences are so dead on for me.
I mean, I have had my natal chart drawn up, my existence looked at from every different astrological angle and culture (I also had Chinese and Aztec Astrology readings done… all creepy-accurate), and it’s been scary.
At first I worried that maybe I was just a nasty cliché, but then I realize that my year, date, day of the week, time, specific location on Earth and moon phase that I was born under all contribute to what makes me an individual, and only a person born in the same place at the same time on the same day in the same year (basically gave birth next to my mom while she gave birth to me) would be identical to me in personality.
I guess you’ll ask now about Twins. Not all twins are identical in personality, but then again, being an individual is so important in most cultures, and it’s almost a human thing to want to have a unique identity… so I assume twins fight for their differences, and struggle while they do it. I would bet all “night and day” twins are more alike than they would want anyone to believe… but again, I don’t know any “night and day” twins, so I really can’t get their insight into the matter. I’m just guessing.
Watch, I’ll have a bunch of twins contacting me and complaining about my naivety about twins and how I shouldn’t make such assumptions, and the smart one will probably make statements like “logical fallacies abound!” I welcome it though, because my musings are borderline research, and it would be nice to interview some real, live, self-proclaimed “night and day” twins to get the inside scoop on personalities.
Anyway, the bottom line is that there may be more to the cosmos than some unknown heaven, state of enlightenment, or even a flat out nothing. At least, that’s what I think. Anyway, I just wasted a whole shit-load of time trying to unravel the cosmos through something only high school girls and mystic hippies believe in. And I’m neither in high school or a hippy, contrary to my political beliefs. So I think I’ll end this blog with that and get myself another cup of tea. And possibly something to eat. Even a statistic needs food to keep going.
Thanks for reading, and good luck discovering your inner astrologer or whatever. Peace out.
AMENDED EX POST FACTO: I just found out that I’m 12.7 years old… ON MARS!
One Martian year: 687 days
One Martian day: 1 day, 37mn, 23s
Temperature: -60°C
Distance to the Sun: 228 million km
Diameter: 6786 km
And I was born on a Stellar Tuesday! NO THURSDAYS TO WORRY ABOUT! YES! (Apparently the day of the week is different off Earth than it is on Earth. Not sure how that works…)
A toast: here’s to taking a shit.
Disclaimer. I know I have to delude myself into thinking that a perfect destination exists and that the likelihood of it is slim; I also know I must live life in a fairyland in order to maintain this delusion, but as it turns out, I’d rather talk crazy than hear it. So without further ado, I give you—my madness.
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Have you ever heard that phrase “happiness is a journey, not a destination” before? Well, what if the proverbial “they” were wrong? What if happiness really is a destination, and life is no better than a death trip? What if sorrow is merely the scenic route and false sense of security is an office job?
Lately I often wonder if I’ve been living my life all wrong. I had been subscribing to the idea that my happiness is a journey and therefore kept myself in constant motion to maintain some form of joy. I feel like this whole desire to travel while I’m young might just be just another form of self deception, and my “joy” is nothing more than a false sense of security. I’m stuck in dive-town Cheney, WA (in the summer, no less) and unable to get to my next great adventure because of basic restraints than everyday people experience ever day, and it’s making me miserable. My life is currently dull and heavy. It’s this down time in between my motion that gets me thinking: my life does not fit into the category of happiness when I’m miserable, and right now, I’m miserable!
So what should I do? If happiness is a journey, it is impossible for me to be happy while stagnant. But what if happiness is a destination? That would make all my misery and sorrow while stuck here give me hope and ambition that someday my life will change for the better! If I’m always reaching for that dream life—that higher destination, then my misery would be a second thought and not a present issue.
What if all those proverbs about enjoying every moment, when obviously it’s impossible, were just a load of shit? I mean it’s impossible to literally enjoy every moment. For example, constipation is not a pleasant thing, and naturally each of us will experience it at some point. Death and taxes too. It’s impossible to enjoy a difficult shit, death, taxes, and stupidity, and yet we all have to deal with these elements of life on a daily basis. (And if you don’t deal with shit on a daily basis, I recommend Phillips. It’s just not healthy to go without a good shit.)
Which brings me to my next point. Shit happens and is natural. The very idea that one can enjoy every single moment is just crazy. Besides, some people find it very good to pass a dirty log, the way some people feel fine after letting a big one rip. So wouldn’t it be more realistic to say that relief often comes after the shit is passed? And if that were the case, than relief (a form of joy) needs the shit to begin with in order to have something to compare to. Yes, that is just another way of saying we need the balance of evil in order to appreciate the good; I just put it into toilet humor for my male audience (and some of my female readers, too, who have toilet brains like any other man out there.)
So now you are probably wondering what my point is. And when you figure it out, please tell me. But in the mean time, consider this: why try to make every moment a happy one when you can enjoy the exhilaration of pursuit and dance after that eternal happiness lost in a distant destination? Happiness most certainly can be a destination. If it were not, then I wish not to go any further on this journey called life, and would much rather settle down, start a family, and see if my children would have more success at having one than I have.
But I still do have some semblance of a life, and therefore can’t stop my journey now. [And I sigh.]
So I think life is not a moment-by-moment happiness. And people who tell you otherwise are constipated and haven’t even tried to pass the shit their full of. So grit your teeth, clench your fits, put your feet on the side of the tub and give a world-class push. Get rid of what’s weighing you down. It will be painful, but no one who’s been through it before promised it would be easy. Take a dump of everything that makes you miserable while you can still take the pain, and heave heavy relief when it’s over. You’ll feel so light you’ll be walking on air, which would make travel much easier. Take that first step out the door and head off on a journey to your great destination. Remember: always think of your beautiful end, so that you never realize how miserable the now can be. And I will do the same
Reintroductions & Who I’ve Become
Lately I’ve talked with people on Facebook who I’ve not spoken with since my initial escape from Montana; friends like Justine, Andrew, Beth and Audrey, just to name a few. It’s not like I was running from these old friends, it’s more like I was running away from a Jenai I never really liked back in high school. I knew I was unhappy and felt that leaving the state was my only way to find peace with myself. But in doing so, I left many friends who (at that time) I felt I was undeserving of their friendship. After all, I subscribed to the philosophy: If I can’t love me, than what reason would anyone else have, other than pity? Sad theory of life, I know, but maybe I’ve grown? I hope I have.
recently started dialogues with after these last fi Anyway, this blog post is for those who knew me before college, and who would like to get to know me again. I’m not the same person I used to be; I can only imagine what fine people all of you have become since we’ve parted ways. No one remains a child forever, so I hope to reacquaint myself with all of you whom I’veve years. I must confess, three out of my five closest friends from high school I have pointedly ignored. I’m not gonna lie, there were a couple people I wanted distance from. Graduating from Skyview made me realize how stupid my uneasy friendships were. I felt that the only reason some of us were friends was more out of obligation, and so people like Dawn, Lexie, and Christine seemed like a liability to me. I wanted to leave town fast, and to try and maintain a vanity friendship seemed like more trouble than it was worth, so I cut ties with three of my seemingly “closest friends” from Skyview.
The only two friends I felt were worth the effort to keep in contact were the only two out of the six of us whom I felt were genuine in their friendship with me. They are Cara and Julia, formerly of the [Sir Name Censored] clan, but now sport shiny new married names. But they still seem to be the same courageous women I was friends with when we were kids. I still talk with them the most out of everyone I left behind. I just wanted it to be known that among everyone I met back in high school, I could trust those two with even my faults, whereas I had to hide them from the other three girls. They never respected me as a person with flaws, so I felt justified when I fell out of touch with them. And I’ve never regretted it.
Anyway, it’s been five years, so what have I been up to? I lived in Japan for one of those five years. I’ve made friends with people from all over the world at the international university I attended whilst there, some of whom I miss so terribly that I’m planning my future around seeing them again.
First there’s Sabina [Sir Name Censored], Bosnian beauty from Sweden, and my first friend in Osaka. The first words out of her mouth when she saw me were to insult my sense of fashion. She asked me, “What are you trying to be? Japanese?” I looked right back at her and said, “I could say the same for you, but at least I have taste.” I think we’ve been friends from that moment on. Or maybe it was the fact that we were both smokers and could smell it on each other, but I’d like to think we had a moment of mutual understanding—that our personalities would work very well together. Sabina had a Turkish sidekick, too. Her name is Pinar. She turned out to be someone neither Sabina nor I really knew, so I won’t go any further about her. Though I will say that Pinar is very despicable in my opinion, but that is neither here nor there. And I wish to talk about the other people who have made a huge impact on creating the Jenai I’ve become today.
Next there’s the amazing Peter [Sir Name Censored], American Hot Shot. If I hadn’t censored his name, you might think it was a stage name; but no, he is really just that cool to have one of those “famous sounded names.” He also makes Tom Cruise look like Lyle Lovett. I’m not sure what it was about Pete’s personality, but his confidence in himself and his dismissal of people (whose opinions of him were worth less than a single grain of rice) impressed me. Not because of his bad boy charm, dashing good looks, or quick wit… but because through all of his outward egotism, there was a man that knew a little about how to handle life when the shit hits the fan. I felt like he had a cockroach’s survival skill. Nothing could bring him down, and I wanted to emulate that trait. I wanted to appear like I too had a mind of steal and the confidence to hold my head high… although I’m not as good looking, there’s no reason why I shouldn’t be able to hold the same confidence.
Then there was Nathaniel and Gina, also Americans. From them I learned how to just be likeable for who I am. I’m not sure how they taught me that, or what specifically about them made me think, “hey! I can be a likeable person, too!” It seems almost kumbaya hippy stuff, but what I learned from them was slightly enigmatic and spiritual. I was drawn to their personalities, and wanted to be their friends even though I had little in common with them, other than maybe music and a love of the ladies. I miss them a lot.
Let’s travel to Egypt now. Zeina and Hana. They were two of my roommates during my time in the dormitory. Although I did not stay in the dorms for long, I made a very important friendship with both of these brilliant and compassionate women. I want to tell them my plans for Egypt, and will mention part of them here in this note. After I finish teaching English in Taiwan (more on that below), I plan to look into English language schools in Egypt. I know that I will never have the time or money to see the world while I’m still young, so I am looking into traveling under the pretense of finding work. I think I’ll just make a career out of traveling to teach English around the world. It may be the only way I’ll get to see my lovely former roommates again. Who knows?
My other roommates in the flat were Mika (Japan), Erin (America), Marlen (Dominican Republic/America), Rachel (America), and Sabina [a different Sabina] (Sweden). They also became very dear to my heart. I hope we can all meet again someday. Perhaps in Japan, if we can synchronize our futures and be on the same continent at the same time.
become, and the I’ve graduated now. I have a BA in BS, or more appropriately, a Bachelor of Fine Arts in English with a focus in Creative Writing. But instead of writing the next great American novel, I’ll do what most aspiring writers do… get a real job and most likely starve. As I mentioned earlier, I’m moving to Taiwan to teach English. I want to do it long enough to pay off my school loans, and perhaps learn a little Chinese. Before I do that, however, I’m writing a rather large article for a magazine right now. There’s no rules against posting a draft on Facebook, so I decided to come forward with some things that only a handful of people know about me, in order to share it with my Facebook friends. The article I’m writing also gives a great deal of insight into what happened in Japan that I kept a secret for about a year. It explains a lot about the Jenai I’ve become and a look at the Jenai I hope to grow into.
My next Note on Facebook will be the rough draft of my article, titled “Unmotherhood.” Since Facebook has privacy settings, I am comfortable sharing it with those who have asked me what I’ve been up to lately… and if they don’t want all the scary details, they are warned not to read on. Anyway, when my article is fully finished, I intend to have it published in a magazine or somewhere it would be appreciated. After my Facebook Note “Unmotherhood” I will try to write a few more notes that detail other adventures and life-changing experiences I’ve been through in college. Perhaps I’ll share them here in my blog as well. I hope that in posting my intimate stories, I can reintroduce myself to the friends in Montana that I never truly opened up to when I had the chance: when I was a child. I wish to step out from the shadows and perhaps strengthen old acquaintances and rekindle friendships with those who had shown me kindness in the past.
My name is Jenai. Pleased to meet you… again.
Mysterious Writers Paychecks and About Me Blues
So I joined an online community for writers that supposedly pays members for their articles today. But I haven’t figured out how I can make that money yet. So now I’m trying to figure out my member profile. I hate “about me” sections. Do writers really need them? Is a section like that even necessary on a community full of authors? Isn’t everything an author writes a sort of convoluted interpretation of self in a grammatically challenging chaos of ideas? Anyway, I don’t generally know what to write in these things, so I offered a quick time line of my life.
Pre2003: Not Important.
2003: Graduated High School/Went To College.
2004: Ran Away To Japan For A Couple Weeks W/O Warning Anyone.
2005: More College/Nothing Too Exciting.
2006: Moved To Osaka, Japan For One Year.
2007: More College/Nothing Too Exciting.
2008: Graduated College
Post Graduation: Moving To Taiwan.
Although I said nothing before 2003 is important, I did leave a quick note mentioning that I’ve been permanently stuck in the 1980’s. And that’s all they need to know really. But then, in true online community fashion, the profile creator thing asked me a series of stupid questions that I’m supposed to write a unique answer to that truly paints a picture of myself for any guests to my profile page. I decided to only write clichés, since the best way to describe me is to say I’m just another stock character in someone else’s book of life… Here is a sample of the answers I wrote to all those questions:
My passion is …
a crisp drink on a hot day.
My childhood ambition …
was to communicate with whales.
My favorite memory …
must not be very memorable, for I can not think of it.
My inspiration …
is usually catalyzed by irritations and annoyances in my life.
There really is no easy way to write up a profile online. Either a person gets to know you or does not. An online profile is not going to make you any clearer to your acquaintances than trying to tutor them in Latin on quantum physics facts not yet discovered in this century. The whole purpose of online profiling is useless. Go to any dating site, the proof is in the advanced search link. Anyway, I wish I could figure out how I can make money off of what I write, but it’s just not working out the way I imagined when I first signed up. So I’m going to just play around with it a touch more and figure out just how much time I am wasting with it.
Cheers.
