Saturday, February 28, 2009

Quails, Mullets, and Pig Tails

I was looking through some old pictures today that were taken when I was very young. Now, most girls mother's recognize that their job is to protect their young, innocent daughters from the cruelty of this world. My mother thrust me to the lions. Some of the oldest pictures of me show a little girl with her hair pulled tight to the top of her head, tied off with a hair tie, and then splayed out in all directions to make her look like a quail. As I got older, my father grew my hair out some. My mother wanted to cut it, but my dad wouldn't let her take any off the back. So she did what any reasonable (not) mother would do. She gave me a mullet. Yeah, I'm not joking. A mullet. Then they let it grow out some, and I had the worst pigtails you could ever imagine. Eventually, she cut it all off into a short, and what could have been cute, bob. Except for the fact that my father dressed me like a boy. The boys clothing, added to the short hair, made me look like the son he always wanted.

Some day, I will be sitting in a psychiatrists office, and we will come to the conclusion that the reason I am so messed up is that my parents gave me horrible haircuts when I was young.

Friday, February 27, 2009

Have you heard the story about the railroad employee?

There was a man who had a job at a railroad working a draw bridge. He would leave the draw bridge up at all times, except for when a train was coming. Then, he would lower it until the train had safely passed. This man lived not far from the draw bridge; in fact, his daughter and son often walked to bring their father lunch. One day, the man was getting ready to let down the bridge for a quickly approaching train, when he spotted his four year old son walking across the tracks. As the father watched, the son's shoes slipped in between the ties and he became stuck. The moment that the father realized his son's predicament, he saw the train coming around the corner. It was then that the gravity of the situation struck him in full force. If he ran down to the tracks to save his son, the draw bridge would not be lowered in time, and dozens, possibly hundreds, of people would die. If he lowered the bridge, he would never have the time to save his son. So the man pulled the lever that lowered the draw bridge. As the train that had crushed his son flew by, all the man could do was stare through the windows as the tears streamed down his face. A man was reading the newspaper. Another was listening to his iPod. A woman read a book to her son. All of these people continued on with their lives, not knowing that a man had given his son so that they could have these privelages that so many took for granted. If any of them had known of the sacrifice, would they have even cared?

Thursday, February 26, 2009

What makes a person a “real” grown-up?

Re: “Facebook Members are Aging Rapidly” Published in the Bee on Feb. 26, 2009. The writer says “(Facebook) is exploding in popularity among grown-ups. The real kind. The kind over 35.” Is that what defines a grown-up? Being over 35? What makes a forty year old man who plays video games and drinks all day any more responsible than a twenty-five year old with a wife and kids, working two jobs to get by? I don’t think that our society can afford to be so stereotypical that we classify adults as only someone over the age of 35. I know plenty of younger people who are more responsible than these so called grown-ups. I’m not saying these things to “bash” adults, but merely to point out that the number of years you have been on this earth does not, in any way, determine your maturity. What’s your opinion? What makes a person a “grown-up”?

Wednesday, February 25, 2009

Mark Twain said it best

I will not be reposting the comment on here, but if you wish to see what spurred this piece, read the third comment left on my blog about Tim Petras.

Anonymous (perhaps because you don't wish me to really know who you are) said that we "Christians" are messed up. To begin with, by generalizing us as "you Christians" you are becoming that which you rant against. You are discriminating against me because of my lifestyle, because of a choice I have made.

Also, you ask "If Tim is not doing this because he really is a woman, than is he doing it just because he feels like it?" I stated that no 2 year old, let alone 12 year old, would believe he was a woman if left alone. The world has made it so that all children hear is that they can be different if they want to be. In other words, we want you to be different. Here is a list of all the ways you can be different. Pick one, any one! We won't stop you! I'm all for individuality, but let's not pour sin into our children's minds, because we want them to "express" themselves.

I will not "shut up". This is a blog. My blog. You have the option of not reading it. Just as I have the option of not reading your comment. Free speach is still allowed in America. Perhaps not for long, but it is allowed.

I am not ignorant, as I spent time researching my topic before writing on it. Please do not state that I am, because in doing so you are proving your own ignorance.

Now that I am done replying to the comment made by "Anonymous". I actually love reading comments like that. Surprising? Not really, when you step back and look at the picture. Comments like that mean that I am making people think. Which is the purpose behind my writing.

I like what Mark Twain said. When you find yourself on the side of the majority, it's time to take a step back and reflect. I think that the same concept applies when everyone is suddenly agreeing with everything you say, or write. At that time, it's prudent to reflect on what you are saying. Comments like the one left by Anonymous mean that my writing is not like everyone else's. I am not just repeating what the world says, but I am thinking for myself. A good thing, yes?

Tuesday, February 17, 2009

The hardest words I'll ever say

Sometimes, the hardest thing a person ever has to do is say goodbye. It's such a simple word, but it hides a complexity that not many can guess.

It doesn't matter to whom the goodbyes must be said, they still carry a hidden emotional impact. The word itself is associated with leaving, endings, sadness, finality. Seldom is it considered to be a happy circumstance when one leaves. Even more so when one wants nothing more than to stay.

I have said goodbye to many people. Friends, family members, classmates. After a while, one would suppose that they would become easier, more routine. This is not the case. I would argue that they get harder each time they come, that every goodbye takes more effort than the last.

Unfortunately, goodbyes are a part of life. Without goodbyes, we would have no need for hellos. We have no joyful reunions, nothing to look forward to. Everything has a purpose, even tearful farewells.

The realization that they are necessary does not make goodbyes any easier. Knowing that time apart will one day end does though.

All this being said, I will wipe my eyes, refocus my mind, and know that this goodbye, at least, will only last for a short time. I will prepare myself for the longer goodbyes that are not too far off in the future, and I will savor the time I have with people now, because I know that this time will not last forever.

"Although we knew this time would come for me and you, don't say anything tonight, if you're gonna say goodbye"

Sunday, February 15, 2009

Fried Pickles

I wrote this last year, directly after moving to Virginia.

This last week, my family and I had the opportunity to travel, by van, across country. Moving from California to Virginia, we have literally been from coast to coast. The experience was something totally new to us, something we had never done before.
Road trips are something of a foreign concept to my family. The farthest we usually go is to see my grandparents, a ninety minute drive. There was the occasional drive to the ocean, five hours or so. But that’s about it. So taking seven days to see America was a new and exciting adventure.
I must admit that I wasn’t too crazy about the idea. Seven days in the car with my siblings is not exactly my idea of fun. There was tension about the move, bickering over which movie to watch next, fighting over who got to sit where. The usual. And, of course, my sister and I joined forces and convinced our mom to outlaw the removal of my brother’s shoes while in the van. But the trip wasn’t all bad.
The scenery was simply beautiful. The different landscapes across the country are fascinating, from the plains of Arizona, to the hills of North Carolina. And the sightseeing was neat as well. We saw petrified wood in New Mexico, the Cadillac Ranch in Texas, and the Mississippi. And then, there were The Fried Pickles.
I wanted to try them as soon as I heard the waitress ask if we wanted some. After all, they’re pickles. Pickles are the most wonderful food ever, good in just about any was, shape or form. But then again, they were fried. Fried Pickles. Who eats fried pickles?
So, even though we were doubtful, we ordered The Fried Pickles. And yes, they were good. Very good. In fact, The Fried Pickles were amazing. I horded most of the plate, grudgingly allowing my dad and grandma a few. I ate so many of The Fried Pickles that I couldn’t finish my meal. But this delicious appetizer taught me something.
I tried something entirely new while on our trip. And, I realized that there are good things in every situation, even moving across country. I did find a new favorite dish, didn’t I? There are a lot of things that I don’t know about living in Virginia. Driving laws, hunting laws, even laws about the fences we put up. But I do know one thing. If I ever return to Amarillo Texas, I will be dining on Fried Pickles at the Hoffbrau Steaks.

Thursday, February 5, 2009

Tim, I mean Kim, Petras

Looking at those two pictures, you would never guess that they are of the same person. No, I'm not kidding you. The first picture is of a young boy named Tim Petras. When he was sixteen years Tim had an operation and became Kim. I cannot, in good conscience, call "Kim" a she. I'm sorry, but when he was born, Tim was very much a boy. That is how he was meant to be.
When Tim was twelve, he began hormone treatments. Twelve! He says that he has "known" he was a woman since he was two. I do not believe that any young boy can know he is a woman, at two or at twelve!
The operation required to turn Tim's body into that of a female was illegal until he reached the age of sixteen. Now that he is of appropriate maturity, Tim can legally declare himself a female.
"I was asked if I feel like a woman now, but the truth is I have always felt like a woman -- I just ended up in the wrong body" You cannot "end up" in the wrong body. That is implying that a mistake has been made. Sorry, but God does not make mistakes. One cannot simply decide that he, or she, is not satisfied with the gender that they are and change it to suite their desires!
Unfortunately, this is the world as we know it. Our society is slowly (or perhaps not so slowly) losing sight of what is good and right, and letting their morals fall by the side. It scares me to think of what will happen to our world in the hands of men such as this one.

Wednesday, February 4, 2009

Let her be a kid!

Have you heard about Miley Cyrus' newest scandal? It seems that she is now racist for pretending to be asian. Now, I have almost no respect for Miley as a singer, and none for her as an actress. However, as a fellow teenage girl, I feel I must stick by her side on this one.
I have a friend who does an "angry southern black woman" impersonation. You know how a southern black woman sounds when she gets angry. This is not racial profiling, it's simply the truth. Everyone knows that when she starts shouting, "Get yo lazy butt in dis house raight naow!" Ya bette stop whadeva it is ya'll ah doin, an' get in dat house!
I have another friend who pretends to be a "sassy lil white girl".
This is just a portion of it, but it's one of the funniest things ever.
We don't just pick on whites and blacks though. With my group of friends, there is an equal share of fat jokes, tall jokes, mexican jokes, asian jokes, and pleanty of jokes about the Irish. And shortness. (I don't have that much of a temper! And just because I'm short does not make me a leprechaun!)
We don't make these jokes to be mean, or racist. We do it because it's funny, and because we're able to laugh about ourselves. We aren't targeting one specific group, in fact, we make fun of ourselves more than anything.
Why is it Miley is being picked on for this? Yeah, she's a role model for young kids. Yeah, she should watch what she does in front of those kids. Should she have stop being a kid herself for these same reasons? I don't think so. What's your opinion on the matter?

Monday, February 2, 2009

Walking Out

Tonight at the restaurant, one of the servers, we'll call her "May", lost a table. They came in, sat down, ordered, ate, were given the bill, and then walked out. They even took the book with them!
With today's economic hard times, walking out may seem like a great idea to any one whose wallet is not as full as they would like. Just come in, eat, and wait until the servers and hosts are otherwise occupied. Then, slip out the door and act like nothing ever happened.
What this couple failed to realize is this. May, who is a mother with an honest job, had to pick up the tab. She paid the bill out of her hard earned wages. These two got away with a free meal, and May had to PAY for the privelage of serving it to them. Is our society so depraved that this does not strike any one else as horribly unjust?!
The only thing I can say is "May, honey, leave yourself a big tip."