tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37982460850224810862024-03-05T18:08:09.081-08:00KODAKodahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14083750788732556169noreply@blogger.comBlogger115125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3798246085022481086.post-27701016969697112122019-12-14T09:45:00.001-08:002019-12-14T10:00:31.510-08:00PC<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span id="docs-internal-guid-6db75dd5-7fff-95f3-0e8d-c97f5be0df04"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Sean John Combs was his given name, but when releasing his first rap album, Sean christened himself Puff Daddy. He became famous, and with his upcoming albums, his music wasn’t the only thing that transformed--His stage names did as well. </span></span></div>
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<span id="docs-internal-guid-89501919-7fff-b79b-0cf3-b49e10a2a4d2" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He went from Puff Daddy to P Diddy to just Diddy over the span of </span><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">one decade</span><span style="font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Although I may have rolled my eyes at his "inconsistencies," it wasn't that big of a deal. I thought it was even kind of cool that he could wield such power, because, not that long ago, people of his race didn't have that ability. Once upon a time, people of color were called negros--or even worse--the <i>other</i> n-word. And before that, they were merely nameless slaves.</span></span></div>
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<span id="docs-internal-guid-19be2538-7fff-f67d-7b28-5e1b7e80a6eb"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Times change. What was once accepted, is now appalling. Society is evolving, and with that, our vocabulary.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
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<span id="docs-internal-guid-b6e6d6a7-7fff-1788-2bf2-a418422d6655"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But sometimes it’s exhausting being PC. It’s not uncommon to hear something like, “People are overly sensitive these days; I can’t say a damn thing without someone getting offended!” And that’s fair. Everyone should be able to state his or her opinions. Keyword: everyone.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span id="docs-internal-guid-a9a8eaa1-7fff-3467-e1f8-172f299101fb"><span style="font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But some claim that they “Can’t keep up with it all. It’s impossible to be politically correct because people keep changing their minds!” Also noted. Just look at the ever-expanding LGBTQ+ abbreviation. Every time I check, there’s another letter added. But also, is this really a problem? </span></span><span style="font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">My sexuality may be represented with that first L, but that doesn't mean I refuse to call anyone by a new name added to the abbreviation. I should welcome change even if it doesn't concern my needs.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
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<span id="docs-internal-guid-1089a4ba-7fff-9875-50a8-bf22546677cb" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Being PC is not ridiculous. Being PC is not a chore. Being PC is the </span><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">least</span><span style="font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> you can do to listen and acknowledge those who once didn’t have a voice. If you can change for Diddy, I’m confident you can be PC for those </span><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Humans </span><span style="font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">with whom you don’t identify. Please don't let privilege get in the way of empathy.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
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<span id="docs-internal-guid-95fcbc82-7fff-bc18-97d0-28f0b6f7ddad" style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Although today may not be “the good old days,” today is a </span><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">better</span><span style="font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> day. Let's be grateful for that.</span></span></div>
Kodahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14083750788732556169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3798246085022481086.post-69791142609162905532019-04-26T13:34:00.000-07:002019-04-26T14:01:56.070-07:00Stupid Love Songs<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXTnuUoXsSb4nKCCY7Kv99ZGMPrxxQR1hzE3wUcAq1QCUgPIyFwzarPIEwHSKOwjd3OvRyyACA8SNXidmx_BZ2S4Tn7JiQl-T8umMjiexWXQL8vYI0fcN7PE53dCuIp5auoD-vE3Y79RCC/s1600/images+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="194" data-original-width="259" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXTnuUoXsSb4nKCCY7Kv99ZGMPrxxQR1hzE3wUcAq1QCUgPIyFwzarPIEwHSKOwjd3OvRyyACA8SNXidmx_BZ2S4Tn7JiQl-T8umMjiexWXQL8vYI0fcN7PE53dCuIp5auoD-vE3Y79RCC/s1600/images+%25281%2529.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">These little shits think they're sooooo romantic.</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">I’m sick of men singing songs about beautiful women.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">They pat themselves on the back for the compliments</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">that slide off their tongues so easily and</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">turn a blind eye when those same compliments</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">slide off the backs of women.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">I’m sick of boys singing songs saying,</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">“You don’t know you’re beautiful,”</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">thinking they’re deep by claiming,</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">“That’s what makes you beautiful.”</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">And maybe they see this as a compliment because</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">they say it like it’s a good thing.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Like it’s a good thing that her enemy is a mirror.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">That she hates her own skin, her own curves, her own body.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Like it’s a good thing that men can talk all they want about her beauty,</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">but she can’t believe them</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">because no one likes a vain woman.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Call me a hypocrite, but I also tell women they’re beautiful, </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">and, even though I’m also a woman, they don’t believe me.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">They refuse the truth like a dangerous dessert,</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">scared the compliments will stick like sickening sweet honey,</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">a nice flavor, but a nasty mess when let loose.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Yes, yes, the dessert was a kind gesture, </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">but what she wants is a real meal</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">because too much sweetness makes you sick.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">My girl is beautiful and</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">I tell her every day, but she just says,</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">“That’s because you love me.”</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">And it’s true. I do love her. And when you love someone</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">their physical imperfections disappear</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">like mascara that’s not waterproof</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">a perm shampooed too soon</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">a spray tan in the shower.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Because beauty is just the wrapping paper and ribbons,</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">but your heart and your soul and your intelligence--</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Those are the gifts inside.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Women don’t need to be told they’re beautiful.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">It wasn’t until men focused on their looks that they started to doubt it.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Women don’t need men to tell them they’re beautiful</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">because there’s no point in stating the obvious.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">I don’t want my girl to ask me if her jeans make her butt look big.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">I want her to tell me her butt </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">is</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> big and that I should be </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">grateful</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">I want my girl to strut her stuff, not for others’ eyes, </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">but because she loves her own body.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Afterall, nothing is wrong with wrapping up a present;</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">it shows that you care about the gift inside.</span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">I want to tell my hot ass girlfriend that she’s beautiful</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">And I want her to accept it, without deflection.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">I want to tell my amazing girlfriend that she’s beautiful,</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">-like truly beautiful-</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">and I want her to </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">believe</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> it.</span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">But I guess it’s not about what I want;</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">it’s about what she wants. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">And although I can’t speak for her, </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">maybe she just wants people to stop talking about the </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre;">wrapping paper, and just open up the god-damn present.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><br /></span></div>
Kodahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14083750788732556169noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3798246085022481086.post-30076664528027090592019-04-02T11:25:00.002-07:002019-04-02T11:34:30.719-07:00I get it--I look like a student<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><br /></span></div>
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<span id="docs-internal-guid-97b2f386-7fff-1c59-b6a8-6df7efd031d2"><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Once upon a time, there was a girl. Actually, she wasn’t a girl -- she was a teacher, but the hall monitors treated her like a girl. Now, this teacher Ms. Oda was aware that she looked young. In fact, if it wasn’t for her faculty badge and a plethora of blazers, she would blend right in with the sea of students as she walked down the hallways. She was ok with looking younger than she was; she had accepted it. What she didn't accept was how the hall monitors treated her. How they patronized Ms. Oda even though she was a professional with a college degree.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">She also wasn’t ok with writing in the third person, so she stopped.</span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span id="docs-internal-guid-5c892748-7fff-4f6e-0e32-75e1202c4d11"><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It all started at the beginning of the school year. I was starting my third year of teaching, but this was my first year at Copper Hills High. No one knew me yet, and no one was really sure whether I was a teacher or just a dressed up student with an identity crisis. It was my prep period, and I needed to grab something from my car. As I walked to my car outside, a hall monitor approached me, fire gleaming in her eyes. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Where are you going, honey?” she asked. She may have used a cute name, but the hall monitor’s words dripped with accusation. I looked at her for a split second, confused with why I was being stopped and why the woman’s hand was still on my shoulder. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Umm, I’m going to my car?” I said, raising my faculty badge for her to see. “I’m a teacher.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Oh, I’m sorry!” she laughed. “I thought you were a student! It’s hard to tell when you’re as old as me."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">I’m sure she meant the self-deprecating humor to double as a sincere apology, but it didn’t. The damage was done, and I kind of hated her for it. But let me be clear -- I didn’t choose her as my enemy because she mistook me as a student--that happens on the daily. What bothered me was how I was treated. The hall monitor talked to me like I was a guilty teenager trying to cause trouble. She stopped me with the intent to chastise me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; text-indent: 36pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The next week I was stopped by the </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; text-indent: 36pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">other</span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; text-indent: 36pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> hall monitor. It was before the first bell when I rushed past her to get some copies from the library. Copies for my class. The class that I </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; text-indent: 36pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">teach</span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; text-indent: 36pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> because I’m an effing teacher. I had passed the hall monitor when I hear, “Uh, doll, you can’t wear that bandana.” I turn around and she sees my badge. “Oh, you’re a teacher?” she asked (without embarrassment). “I guess you’ll still have to take off the bandana. It could be a gang symbol.” </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; text-indent: 36pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; text-indent: 36pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Oh, I’m sorry,” I apologize. “I’ll take it off.” Because I’m a responsible </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; text-indent: 36pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">adult</span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; text-indent: 36pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. Because I’m </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; text-indent: 36pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">not</span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; text-indent: 36pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> a gangster. That was strike two.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">There has been a strike three, four, and will probably continue on to higher numbers, but here is my takeaway: whether you’re an adult, a teacher, a boss, someone’s superior, or any other status of power, don’t treat those “below” you like they’re already guilty of something. Don’t expect the worst, expect the best. Give those teenagers a chance. I didn't mind being mistaken for a student, but I didn’t like how those hall monitors made me feel. I get it--the purpose of their job is to make sure students aren’t skipping class and messing around--but students are still people. And so am I. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">I’d like to be treated like one.</span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXs5lKLvAVPwhKCv8cScIpTW9Y2foPoOecv805vLLPM2uxN2iOe__Gupexdv7Yrn7igSKMyk7-W5F9CmUveVZr7gMnaH8920dztxwuREgXj12Z4QHDNEg2X5lm-opkAX4a2ik-COCzIrOS/s1600/RenderedImage.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXs5lKLvAVPwhKCv8cScIpTW9Y2foPoOecv805vLLPM2uxN2iOe__Gupexdv7Yrn7igSKMyk7-W5F9CmUveVZr7gMnaH8920dztxwuREgXj12Z4QHDNEg2X5lm-opkAX4a2ik-COCzIrOS/s320/RenderedImage.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Blazer = Teacher<br />
Mirror Selfie = Slightly Embarrassed Millennial</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Kodahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14083750788732556169noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3798246085022481086.post-4112069658798567382018-04-04T14:59:00.001-07:002018-04-05T10:41:33.820-07:00Little Kristen's Journal Entries (that were super gay without her realizing it)<span style="font-family: inherit;">This week is Spring Break and I have Hand Foot and Mouth Disease. I sure know how to spend my vacations to the fullest. With all this free time, I decided to go through my old journals and see how my writing style and voice had changed over the years. But after reading through more than a decade of my life, I started to notice how obvious it was that I've always been gay. Guys, I was a week short of turning 23 when I finally came out to myself. TWENTY THREE!! If you talk to most gay guys, they'll probably tell you that they realized they were gay around 12 or 13, when they were hitting puberty. But for me, although I had dated quite a few boys, didn't figure out this huge part of me until I was almost through college. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">So, as I was reading through this, I kept sharing parts of my journal to my girlfriend that I thought were particularly funny because it seemed so <i>obvious</i> that I've always been a stone cold lesbian (I think I just made that term up). How did I not figure this out sooner? Hindsight it 20/20, but it's almost like I grew up blind. I'll talk more about this later, but first, here are all the little pieces from my journals that had Little Lesbian Kristen screaming from the pages--misspellings and all. </span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgctwrah33UmfBy2GgVC47N85HJFNQPRwvOi2TKBWVuTWaBSVVY_0I_5dDziOi5LVNof43jz0_NFT9qncWC9Mm6ZD7j9WPa4rskZ5O_red0fFBxMFjLWZt7TFu6Ezi8s2zkKctqihAkwdV0/s1600/IMG_1237.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="400" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgctwrah33UmfBy2GgVC47N85HJFNQPRwvOi2TKBWVuTWaBSVVY_0I_5dDziOi5LVNof43jz0_NFT9qncWC9Mm6ZD7j9WPa4rskZ5O_red0fFBxMFjLWZt7TFu6Ezi8s2zkKctqihAkwdV0/s320/IMG_1237.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">July 8th, 2000 (age 8)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">On the fourth of July I bot my bike...it is m favorit bike that iv had. it is a boys bike that is red. i got a boys bike becus all the girls biks were pink or purple yuk!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">March 15th, 2001 (age 9)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">A few days ago was my birthday. I got a pocket knife, a Lego racer, and lego soccer, and sume clothes.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">August 8th, 2002 (age 10)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">My other best friend in Brunswick is McKenna. I'm not sure if she is my best friend anymore because she talks about boys a lot.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">This entry breaks my heart. After being home schooled, I started going to public school in 4th grade and decided it was too hard to stand out.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">December 30th, 2002 </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Last year I was a big tomboy who liked sports. I'm not really a tomboy any more because when you are one everybody stares at you funny and sometimes askes you if you are a boy. the reason why i started being a tomboy was because I hated the color pink. Then all girl clothes were pink a lot of the times, so I decided to start wearing boy clothes, and I got more and more. so then pretty soon I didn't like girls clothes at all. but over the summer I started wearing sporty girls clothes and started wearing normal girls clothes pretty much. I still wear sporty clothes, but it's in the girls department.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">July 28th, 2004 (age 12)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Later after dinner we went to church for Young Womens. We decorated cookies and played pictionary. The girls were very loud and annoying again and they got on my nerves.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">My mom had told me she was excited to get her first period because it made her feel like a woman. I did NOT relate to this. Also, the last sentence kills me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">November 29, 2005 (age 14)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">During the weekend my intestines felt all cramped up and thought I just had to take a #2, but I didn't so I just ignored it but on Sunday I got my period. And it SUCKS!!!! I was hoping it would come later but it didn't. I guess getting it in 8th grade is kinda late, but not really...this is a pain in the rear. Literally. Well I'm done complaining and we're gonna eat pizza pockets!!! YEAH!!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">April 6th, 2006 (14)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">"going steady" in middle school is extremely lame because first of all who dates without a car? and you shouldn't have a "relationship" with anyone until you're getting ready to get married (which I hope is nowhere near soon).</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">November 7th, 2007 (age 15)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">(After gushing about this boy I was crushing on) ...I have noticed that i'm really picky with guys. There aren't any cute guys in Medina! I'm so excited to go to college!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">April 17th, 2008 (age 16)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Now that I'm 16 I can finally date, so we also went to the movies and stuff. Just for future reference, my first date was a week after my birthday with Boy #1 at the movies. What's really weird is that I really like Boy #2 last year when he was dating someone, and I had a crush on Boy #1 on and off for awhile, but now that I can date, I don't like them as much as I used to. I really like hanging out with Boy #2 and talking to him, but I feel like I'm not attracted to him as much. It's actually really odd. Ever since I've turned 16, it's like I don't have hormones anymore. I don't understand why; it's like I'm a kid again...I just feel guilty because I feel like I'm leading Boy #2 on, when I don't want to be in a relationship with anyone. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">September 7th, 2008</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I don't really want to write about this, but I guess I'll want to remember this later on in life. So the curse of guys afraid to kiss me is gone. Haha, you guessed it, I finally got my first kiss! Too bad I'm embarrassed to say his name. Boy #1 was my first kiss, and I hope no one will find out because it would be <u>extremely</u> awkward. Jenai's the only person I've told, but I know Boy #1 has told a bunch of his friends, which I'm not too thrilled about. Haha but I have to say it was one of the worst first kisses every! When he kissed me I didn't know it was coming, so I was surprised, and then my mind went blank and I couldn't kiss him back. So then I started to laugh because I had just made a fool of myself. Yeah, it was bad. But luckily I had other opportunities to get better, and I did. I feel kinda bad for kissing him so much because I don't really like him that much, and we're not dating, but now I'm glad I have some experience now.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">July 29th, 2009 (age 17)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I mentioned before that I had a boyfriend and his name is Boy #3. We didn't really hang out until this summer but he asked me if I'd like to go on a date with him and I really didn't want to because I didn't like him like that, so I told him I would but just as friends. Eventually we hung out a lot and I was starting to like him and it seemed like we should kiss, so I did and because of that I guess it was assumed that we were going out. I realized that I hate the term "boyfriend" or "girlfriend" haha I don't know why, but I told Boy #3 that I didn't want us to be serious....(one page later) I became more and more detached to him because I realized that I hate dating exclusively and I didn't like him as much as he liked me....(another page or two later) Eventually Boy #3 got quiet and I could tell that he was holding back tears. I told him he could say what was on his mind, and he said it would make me feel awkward. I had a feeling of what he was going to say, so I was praying like crazy to know what to say. Finally after a few minutes Boy #3 said that he was starting to love me. My guess was correct and I wasn't sure what to say back because I don't love him like that. I told him that I couldn't say the same back, but I was really grateful that I had dated him because I learned a lot form our relationship.</span><br />
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On to my journal I had in college before I went on a mission and figured all this shit out.<br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">July 18th, 2012 (age 20)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Actually, my work friends are my real friends now. I hang out with them outside of work more than my other friends. Just yesterday, I saw Girl #1 at work, then she came to the pool with me, we saw a movie, and later we made a midnight run to Wendy's and McDonald's. We might as well be dating.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">July 24th, 2012</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I'm going to see The Dark Night with Boy #4. AKA my Asian crush from work. He finally got my digits today. Hopefully I don't ruin this like every other "relationship" I've had.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">October 26th. 2012</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">So yeah, that night I asked Boy #4 if we could start dating exclusively because other people were both trying to date us and it was getting too complicated for me. Let me repeat, I made it official. That's a big deal considering I've ran away from any relationship that started to get even a little serious.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">November 10th, 2012</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Just to keep this exciting, maybe I should write about Boy #4 for the third entry in a row. We broke up. I love ruining suspense. It was more like a friendship where we often hung out exclusively, and occasionally made out. So basically, nothing has changed except for the kissing stuff. It was both our first real relationship, but it was hardly real. Like always, I wasn't willing to put in the time, and I couldn't see myself ever falling in love with him. It was weird, because I'm pretty close to him, and physically attracted to him, but there was nothing romantic about our relationship. I'm beginning to worry that I'm incapable of falling in love. I've never even come close. Maybe I'm <i>really</i> picky...</span><br />
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I then continue to write about my friend (a girl) whom I obviously was much more interested in writing about.<br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">This past Thursday was the last time I got to see Girl #1 at the MTC. She leaves for her mission on Tuesday, and I'm super duper sad. I would like to withdraw my last statement saying I'm incapable of falling in love, because I'm definitely in love with Girl #1. Sisterly love, jeez, don't freak out. At first we'd mostly spend time together at the pool, but then I wanted to hang out with her all the time, so the pool times were just a small fraction of our "together time." We have so many differences, but our sense of humor and other stuff totally clicked. I was really only close friends with Girl #1 for two months before she left, but I consider her my best friend. I haven't told her this, because I'm sure she has a couple friends higher on her totem pole, but she knows I consider her one of my closest friends. Once I get a boyfriend who I want to see/talk to as much as Girl #1, then I'll know it's love. Instead, I write long letters to Girl #1 every week with really awesome drawings. I'm hopeless.</span><br />
<br />
So there you go. Being a tomboy doesn't make you are a lesbian. Not having a good first kiss doesn't mean you're a lesbian. Not loving the boy you're dating doesn't make you a lesbian. But jeez, there was a lot going on that I wasn't writing about. Yeah, I'd talk about my boy crushes in a lot of my journal entries, but that's what they were: crushes. Nothing more. When I talked about my relationships with girls, it was pretty clear that they meant a lot more to me. I had never really wondered why; girls made good friends and boys were stupid. The whole LGBTQ scene seemed so sexualized to me, that I never thought that I was part of that community. Sure, every once in awhile I had a passing thought that I might be gay, but doesn't everyone? Looking back, I had some huge crushes on my girl friends, but I never thought I was gay, because I just wanted to be her best friend-- I didn't recognize any physical attraction.<br />
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It wasn't until I fell in love with a girl that those physical longings showed up. It was when I fell in love with a girl that I realized I <i>wasn't</i> heartless and <i>was </i>capable of being in love. It was when I fell in love with a girl that everything else started to make sense.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLsa7tJJFlG9ONIn3f5GKbTi83pfAt7ib1x2inrByvoRmtDBVsjOygbNKZSbZTB4bSGeBN3dLxql8Yroo82HK_3H33obXuh7GQeZPfFkUNfbqrseFWMO5jUE9jhdDCfaED7npn0vD5kINT/s1600/IMG_1238.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLsa7tJJFlG9ONIn3f5GKbTi83pfAt7ib1x2inrByvoRmtDBVsjOygbNKZSbZTB4bSGeBN3dLxql8Yroo82HK_3H33obXuh7GQeZPfFkUNfbqrseFWMO5jUE9jhdDCfaED7npn0vD5kINT/s320/IMG_1238.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I liked my violin, I hated that dress.</td></tr>
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<br />Kodahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14083750788732556169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3798246085022481086.post-79305608771338108112017-11-12T17:25:00.002-08:002017-11-12T17:33:12.344-08:00Embarrassing MomentsWhenever people ask me about my most embarrassing moment, I think back to two different memories, both from my days in 7th grade. Unlike the majority of the population, I actually quite enjoyed middle school, but even though I can claim that, I <i>cannot</i> claim that I left those puberty-filled halls without embarrassing myself. Here we go!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLeOqpSNqJlUz_JvDpOuRn3xM_OvA7re7JK4UxVlyRG5b0B_Jj7Uhn80vaPc73frkHhX_ka6a1tUREJfsEPldlHPStUKSM_2w8nLzJtmXvcALGlqeLGjX8pl3DRCH5wzWxAm2xeXSTOM0u/s1600/208579_1002727715286_9575_n.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="453" data-original-width="604" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLeOqpSNqJlUz_JvDpOuRn3xM_OvA7re7JK4UxVlyRG5b0B_Jj7Uhn80vaPc73frkHhX_ka6a1tUREJfsEPldlHPStUKSM_2w8nLzJtmXvcALGlqeLGjX8pl3DRCH5wzWxAm2xeXSTOM0u/s400/208579_1002727715286_9575_n.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What an awkward time.</td></tr>
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<b>Story #1</b><br />
Before the days of social media and smart phones, emails and instant messenger were kind of a big deal. As a 7th grader, I was late to the game and was still trying to come up with an awesome screen name. It was pretty much a self-proclaimed nickname, so it had to be good.<br />
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One day, I was walking the halls of A.I. Root Middle School, discussing potential screen names to my friends. I was particularly proud of the fact that I was half Japanese in a town of probably less than 10 Asians, so I thought that I should have my username make some connection to my super awesome heritage. <i>I've tried octopus before, maybe I could make that apply. I mean, I didn't </i>love <i>it, but it wasn't necessarily bad, either. </i>Yes. Eating octopus seemed super badass and I didn't hate it, so I was definitely going to use octopus in my AIM screen name.<br />
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After taking about .7 seconds to brainstorm some really awesome ideas, I blurted out "How about 'tentaclegirl'?" I asked my less-clueless friends. But I didn't say tentacle. I said "testiclegirl." Not only was this mortifying to the awkward and somewhat naive preteen that I was, but the meanest teacher in the school also happened to be walking behind us, unknown to me.<br />
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"Sounds like YOU need a new vocabulary, Missy!" I was mortified. Needless to say, I didn't make my screen name tentaclegirl, I made it iloveperogies92. Classic.<br />
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<b>Story #2</b><br />
Sadly, this story is just another embarrassing moment I created because at the age of 13, I was still not very accustomed to the idea of puberty and sex.<b> </b>I can still clearly remember sitting in my history class, waiting for my name to be read so I could collect my graded test from Mr. Sutherland. A nice boy sat next to me and although I seldom talked to him, I had no problem asking him a rather personal and non-essential question when he stood up to get his test.<br />
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"Woah. What's in your pocket? A ball or something?"<br />
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This poor kid was wearing basketball shorts (the only thing middle school boys wore and <i>still</i> wear to this day) and was experiencing an...erection. I may have been a little clueless, but I wasn't clueless enough to not realize <i>the moment after I asked</i> what was happening. So not only was the boy embarrassed, I was also very embarrassed. And that's the end of the story. <br />
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<br />Kodahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14083750788732556169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3798246085022481086.post-79482319100984037362017-07-28T12:02:00.000-07:002017-07-28T12:06:17.034-07:00I think it's about time I come out<div dir="ltr" id="docs-internal-guid-368f3a9d-8a0a-d574-6fd9-caab3bd74af3" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I always claimed that I wouldn’t make a public coming out statement because I didn’t want the attention. I didn’t owe anyone an explanation of my sexuality, so why would I post something so personal on social media for everyone to see? Over the past 2.5 years I’ve been coming out to family and close friends and that was going well; I didn’t really see the point of potentially causing a ruckus that I didn’t want to deal with.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Although I still pretty much agree with “Halfway in the Closet Kristen,” I’ve realized that this worked for awhile, but not anymore. I’ve always been an open book; I saw no need to hide myself from others...until I realized I was gay. I came out to the people I was close to, but I let everyone else assume I was straight--which eventually became unhealthy and exhausting. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Before I really get into anything, I just want to clarify that I’m not writing this with any sort of agenda. I’m not here to promote any type of lifestyle, and I’m not attacking anyone’s faith. I just feel like I need to come out publicly for myself. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I’m not going to go into a lot of detail about these last 2.5 years of my life (partly because it would take too long and mostly because you probably don’t care), but a little explanation is probably needed. I always liked coming out to people in person when the time was right. (For those of you who I’ve already come out to, thank you so much for being loving and kind; I realize how blessed I am to have you all in my life.) I’ve never had a bad experience coming out to any of my family members or friends and I was never nervous because I knew once they heard my story, they’d understand--or at least try to understand. The thing is, I can’t have these one-on-one conversations with everyone, but I still want to invite dialogue. So, if you want to talk, hit me up. I’ve never been offended by a question because I’d much rather you hear it from me, than through a whispered conversation behind my back because the topic is supposedly taboo.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">So. I am gay. What does this mean? I don’t know. What does this mean for me as a Mormon? I don’t know. Will I stay in the church? I don’t know. My life is a bunch of unanswered questions which plague me every day, but for now-that's ok. I'm just going to keep on truckin' and this is one way I'll do that.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">For those of you who are LDS, this may be hard for you to read. Before all this, I was pretty much the model Mormon girl. I went to BYU, served a mission, did everything I was supposed to do. And that made me happy. I’m not a rebel, and I never thought I’d stray away from the Church. And truthfully, that makes me sad in a lot of ways. I’m not angry at the Church, but for now, I’m just going to do what feels healthy. I’ve dealt with depression ever since I got home from my mission (which was pretty much when I figured out I was gay), and I feel like a big part of that was because I wasn’t being fully truthful about myself to others.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">My sexual orientation doesn’t define me, but it is a part of who I am. It has helped me to be more accepting, loving, and empathetic. Basically, I’m pretty sure God made me gay just so I would be forced to become more Christ-like. So if you have questions, please ask. If you or someone you know is going through something similar, you can talk to me. I probably won’t have any answers, but I can promise you a non-judgemental listening ear.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">To finish this off, I’m going to share a poem I wrote a little while back. I have now officially graduated from BYU, so some of my feelings may have changed a bit, but this is a glimpse of what I was feeling at one point in my journey.</span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">P.S. To all the boys I tried to date: I’m sorry and I can truthfully say, “It’s not you, it’s me.” ;)</span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">New Religion</span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Today I did the dishes while I played some Mackelmore.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">He’s gone through a lot of shit--compared to me, a whole lot more.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I was born to loving parents; wasn’t rich, but never poor.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Went to college, got a job, should be happy, but want more.</span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">It’s weird, because I enjoy life. It’s weird because I could be free.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">The problem is I’m in this closet wishing I could just be me.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">In some ways I’m the lucky one; I never felt alone.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Lots of people hide their feelings or else kicked out of their home.</span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">But that wasn’t how it was for me; friends and family were supportive.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Mom still hopes that I’ll date guys, but in the end her love’s not shorted.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Sometimes I wish I was straight so I could be the perfect daughter.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">It’s a struggle in the Church, but I still love my Heavenly Father.</span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Can you believe I was the age of twenty two</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">when I came out to myself and realized that it was true:</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I was gay and had been in some pretty deep denial.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">In that moment I asked God, “What should I do with this trial?”</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I had planned to stay. My faith was the priority.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">But as time went on, it felt like a sorority.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">This was once my home and the center of my life.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">But that was not okay if I planned to wed a wife.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Currently, I find myself unhappily in a strange limbo.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I’m halfway in the closet; my close friends and family know.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">But I’m still a student at the Y and don’t feel very safe.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Probably because I’m not living in the “straight and narrow” way.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">But this feels more right than wrong--I really do like girls.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Back when I was dating guys I felt zero type of thrills.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I know life is more than just following your desires,</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">But when I was dating boys, I just felt like a fat liar.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">So I guess what I’m saying is I’m sick of being “straight.”</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Or at least the assumption: for a husband I will wait.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">‘Cause a lie is a lie even if it’s by omission.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">So to live a truthful life has become my new religion.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-gvUnLsFJAuao13vnndJLHrVfvNQ0d6hOW3aJFwSKM5wj5VbfYjkOETboqfzZ5ltEQu4F2ayNUKGiaToQ3GgYqZbCOXDQnCBw6NJPenKq5bODYpVVnkPGrXhtFhFbkXe8aVPsahdyBbTE/s1600/49ECEB46-FCEE-4F9A-91BB-DDAD29627400.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1031" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-gvUnLsFJAuao13vnndJLHrVfvNQ0d6hOW3aJFwSKM5wj5VbfYjkOETboqfzZ5ltEQu4F2ayNUKGiaToQ3GgYqZbCOXDQnCBw6NJPenKq5bODYpVVnkPGrXhtFhFbkXe8aVPsahdyBbTE/s640/49ECEB46-FCEE-4F9A-91BB-DDAD29627400.jpg" width="412" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Partly because I needed a thumbnail pic. Mostly because we're cute.</td></tr>
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Kodahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14083750788732556169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3798246085022481086.post-38783723881797758332017-03-30T08:15:00.001-07:002017-03-30T13:39:27.727-07:0080 Percenter<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">This year marks my first year of teaching high school English, and I'd say it isn't going horribly. Right now we're working on a type of personal essay called "This I Believe" in which you write about something you...believe in. You can find hundreds of examples <a href="http://thisibelieve.org/" target="_blank">here</a>. I've been writing alongside my students, so I thought I'd share it because I never blog anymore. (You'll find out why in the essay.)</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When I was a kid, I used to dream that I’d make it into the Olympics. Actually no, I didn’t just dream--I </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">expected</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> to go to the Olympics. When discussing my bright future to any half-amused adult, I’d say something like, “Either I’ll go for soccer, or running, but I’m not sure yet.” It wasn’t a matter of if I’d go to the Olympics, but in which sport</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I was to compete. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Although I give props to my five-year-old self for such confidence and optimism, eventually I grew up and realized that I wasn’t going to make it to the Olympics for soccer or running. In fact, I was never on varsity for cross country and didn’t even try out for the high school soccer team. To some people, this may categorize me as a failure, but I quickly accepted the fact that I wasn’t going to be the best at anything; instead, I was simply above average at a handful of things.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Although I continued through life picking up quite a few hobbies and skills, I never mastered them. In some ways I loved being a “Jack of all Trades,” but it also kind of bothered me that I was never the best. And then one day, on our way to the Uintas for a camping trip, I was sitting in the back seat of my friend’s Subaru Forester flipping through a Patagonia catalogue. The magazine was mostly filled with pricey outdoor clothing that I’d never be able to afford, but on one page there was a quote from Yvon Chouinard that caught my attention: </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I've always thought of myself as an 80 percenter. I like to throw myself passionately into a sport or activity until I reach about an 80 percent proficiency level. To go beyond that requires an obsession that doesn't appeal to me. Once I reach 80 percent level, I like to go off and do something totally different.”</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> Keep in mind, Yvon Chouinard, the founder of Patagonia said this; if he wasn’t afraid to admit that he was only 80% proficient at his hobbies, why should I be? </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And that’s when I started to think of all the different sports and hobbies I had obsessed over until I reached that 80%. At some point in my life, my thoughts and free time had been consumed by triathlons, drawing, lacrosse, piano, Dance Dance Revolution, P90X, longboarding, road biking, salsa dancing, drumming, roller skating, Crossfit, YouTube, skiing, and blogging. I never “threw myself passionately” into these activities to be the best--I immersed myself because it was a fun challenge.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I take my hat off to those who dedicate their lives to reach that 100% proficiency; the amount of talent, hard work, dedication, and sacrifice amazes me. And yet, I don’t really envy them anymore. It would’ve been cool to go to the Olympics for soccer, but then I wouldn’t have had the time to make sub-par YouTube videos or hit the local skating rink every Friday night to show off my moves. And that’s why I am okay with being an 80 percenter. Because I believe that at 80 percent I can live life at 100 percent.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">Now I will attach a few pictures of me doing some of those things I mentioned. Because pictures make it more interesting.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br />
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<img alt="Image may contain: one or more people, people riding bicycles, bicycle and outdoor" height="300" src="https://scontent.xx.fbcdn.net/v/t1.0-9/216793_1879509194275_1049397_n.jpg?oh=9716f798cf3bcd276719506c3e6b3547&oe=595E6949" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr>
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Kodahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14083750788732556169noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3798246085022481086.post-2094160188302978892016-12-16T07:46:00.000-08:002016-12-16T09:38:15.945-08:00MERRY CHRISTMAS<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><b>This is the first draft of our family's Christmas card, but I have a feeling that my mom will make me change it, so I'm going to post this sarcastic and somewhat snarky version on here because I want to. Ha.</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Merry Christmas fellow friends and family that I probably don't know. With the emergence of social media, Christmas cards aren’t exactly necessary to humble brag, but we’re conceited enough to send a hard copy out regardless.</span></span></div>
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<b id="docs-internal-guid-f51ec2ca-0841-470f-a118-2c6333273dcb" style="font-weight: normal;"></b></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Lily returned home from her mission in the Japan Tokyo Mission. (Not to be mistaken with the lesser Tokyo South Mission.) Although the semester immediately following missions tends to be rough, Lily took ridiculously hard and time consuming classes because she’s a boss. She also still loves to consume a lot of vegetables, primarily cabbage and carrots because they’re cheap.</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-xZ8BEJ5RqoasqXRSnRV5kAukaE9FRyk0N1JKu_HSSwjBZBZW2wSVU3iO_CnIAqP6M6hQ_xIoml8Zh2hxMMrv0SHG_XGyz8bJCDVriecJU-wxPll_4gzwPZn_NhutGWreRMu-6Tm-_H5y/s1600/unnamed+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-xZ8BEJ5RqoasqXRSnRV5kAukaE9FRyk0N1JKu_HSSwjBZBZW2wSVU3iO_CnIAqP6M6hQ_xIoml8Zh2hxMMrv0SHG_XGyz8bJCDVriecJU-wxPll_4gzwPZn_NhutGWreRMu-6Tm-_H5y/s320/unnamed+%25281%2529.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Kristen is teaching her first year of high school English and will now stop referring to herself in 3rd person because she hates how teachers do that. I teach about half of the 10th graders at Payson High and am surviving. My students also seem to be alive, and have managed to not hurt each other in my classroom, so I’d say it’s going well. I also still ski and roller skate which I try to mention to my students often so that they think I’m cool.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Jenai is working in a chiropractic office and gets a free adjustment weekly, so she’s pretty much living the life. She also has embraced her Latina side (jokes) and is not only salsa dancing on the reg, she has joined a salsa team and owns that dance floor. She also picked up skiing after a little hiatus and hopefully will be joining me on the slopes to shred the gnar.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Mom is as cute as ever and has picked up tap dancing. Seriously folks, she’s a little daredevil although she recently told me that last week’s practice was the first time that she didn’t feel like crying from frustration. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: italic; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">You</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> try tap dancing and tell me how it goes. Dad may have had a mid-life crisis and bought a motorcycle and grew a goatee. He also still roller skates frequently thanks to moi. This year, Mom and Dad were called to teach Early Morning Seminary. Although they are learning a lot and (I’m sure) are grateful for the opportunity, are extremely sleep deprived and looking forward to this Christmas Break. They also went to a French speaking camp for a week or so and I </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: italic; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">think</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> they had a good time. Poor Mom isn’t fluent, so it probably wasn’t as fun for her. But she’s a tough one, so don’t worry.</span></span></div>
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Kodahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14083750788732556169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3798246085022481086.post-33728467949986499492016-05-24T21:31:00.000-07:002016-05-24T21:56:19.065-07:00After School DetentionTake a good look at this photo of me back in eighth grade. I'm pretty sure it was my first Facebook profile pic, and I had to have my mom take it of me because selfies weren't a thing yet.<br />
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Does that look like the face of a trouble maker? A trickster? A punk? No! It looks like a half Japanese Mormon girl who didn't even drink caffeine. She wasn't a total kiss-up (she talked too much for that), but the teachers (I assume) liked her well enough. <br />
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Wait, when did I start referring to myself in third person?<br />
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So like I said, <i>I</i> was a pretty good kid and didn't get detentions. I mean, sometimes I had lunch detentions when you stay an extra five minutes in class before going to lunch because of forgotten homework or something like that, but not because I was BAD. <br />
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That is, until eighth grade. I just read Eugene O'Neill's <i>The Hairy Ape </i>today for an English class, so I thought I'd tell you through the <i>"theatre" </i>lens. #theatrebecauseartsy<br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">Detention</span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Characters</span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Kristen</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Mrs. Jansen</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Nolan</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Orchestra kids</span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Setting</span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Cafeteria stage</span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Scene One</span></b></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">You enter in the middle of the eighth grade orchestra class. The students are seated in formation on the cafeteria stage hacking away at their stringed instruments. Mrs. Jansen, the director, is obviously frazzled because the majority of her students cannot keep a beat and/or are tone deaf. She is working with the cello section and although they are not as hopeless as the violas and bases, she doesn't hold much hope for them. That is, except for Kristen: She was the one cellist who actually had a musical background and although Mrs. Jansen wouldn't admit to it, she often gave Kristen preferable treatment. The horrible screeching continues.</span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Mrs. Jansen:</b> Ok let's try that section one more time at measure 23...Yes, 23...Where we started last time...After your ten measure rest!...Will someone please show Mike where measure 23 is??! <i>(The cello section plays from measure 23 and Mrs. Jansen gives a defeated sigh and moves on to the second violin section; she typically has to work with them more than the talented first violin section.)</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Nolan: </b><i>(Turns around with a mischievous grin and whispers to the cello section)</i> Hey guys--you want gum? <i>(Wanting to prove their rebellious natures, despite the fact that they are upper middle class students living in the suburbs of the midwest, a few of the students eagerly take the gum. Kristen does as well.)</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Mrs. Jansen:</b><i> (Already thinking about the Starbucks she will be getting in the next hour, she calls the whole orchestra back together.) </i>Alright everyone, let's all play from measure 23...Yes the same 23 we've been playing from this entire time.<i> (The students play and start chewing their gum conspicuously after getting absorbed in the music.) </i>Are you all chewing gum?? Go spit it out right now. If I catch any of you chewing gum from now on that's an automatic after-school detention! <i>(Many students make the walk of shame to the trash can to spit out their gum, but Nolan and Kristen don't budge. They exchange impish grins.) </i>Nolan! Are you chewing gum?!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Nolan: </b>Yes.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Mrs. Jansen: </b><i>(A bit worked up, but satisfied because she doesn't really like Nolan) </i>That's an after-school detention for you!! I was serious! If I catch any one else with gum, you're getting detention!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>Minutes pass and the orchestra still sounds pretty lousy. Kristen gets bored and starts chewing her gum mindlessly.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Mrs. Jansen:</b> (<i>Speaking in an almost unbelieving, regretful tone) </i>Kristen, are <i>you</i> chewing gum??</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Kristen: </b><i>(Softly, yet somewhat defiantly) </i>Yes.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Mrs. Jansen: </b><i>(Her eyes glistening with unshed tears of disappointment) </i>Well, I'm gonna have to give you a detention...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Kristen: </b> Ok.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i>The End</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Ok, so that was really fun. Maybe I should become a playwright when I grow up. I'd be just as poor as being a teacher, so what's to lose? Anyway, that was the first time I got an after-school detention. Nolan and I had to stack chairs in the choir room while Mrs. Jansen stood in the doorway eating popcorn. And that's about it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">How's that for edgy and rebellious?? The funny thing is, I got another after-school detention in high school for being late to Honors Chemistry. The principals (we had like five--don't ask) had this thing called Hall Sweeps where they'd pick a section of the school and have all the teachers close and lock their doors right when the tardy bell rang. That day we were having a lab, so I had to go to my locker to grab my goggles. And then I was late and got a detention. I was obviously <i>really</i> acting up with those goggles of mine.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">So there ya go. Judge me if you will. I am not ashamed!!</span></div>
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Kodahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14083750788732556169noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3798246085022481086.post-4967133523544631012015-11-30T17:29:00.001-08:002015-11-30T17:29:51.094-08:00HerniasPsych! This isn't really about hernias. I mean, it <i>mentions</i> hernias, but that's not the topic. I also mention peeing, Sacrament Meeting talks, and turkey which are not the topics of this post <i>either</i> because this post is very bad and I'm sorry.<br />
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I used to keep a list of all the things I wanted to blog about because I could never keep up with all the ideas. I wanted to write about anything and everything. I even made a rule that I couldn't write more than two posts a week because it was embarrassing. Now--I've got nothin'. Probably because I eventually got a job and found friends.<br />
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Well, to try and get back in the groove, I kept a list of things I wanted to write about just like the old days. The problem? The ideas sucked and I didn't have anything to say about them. The solution? Post them anyway. Finished or unfinished. (They're all unfinished.)</div>
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<b>So here's the first thing: Two Truths and a Lie</b></div>
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I started to make a list on my phone of really good things to say if I'm ever asked to give two truths and a lie in some party setting. I'm really bad at this game. Like <i>really</i> bad, so I thought it would be a good idea to get a head start and make a list while I'm not under any pressure or time constraints. This is what I came up with: </div>
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<li><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">I once thought I had a hernia, but instead of a bulging organ poking through an abdominal opening, I had poison ivy underneath my skin.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: courier new, courier, monospace;">When I was little I was flying home from Washington and all the flight attendants thought I was adorable so they kept giving my apple juice. Then I had a horrible case of diarrhea the whole way home.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: courier new, courier, monospace;">I was really small (and obviously adorable) when I was a child, so the doctors wanted to put me on steroids. I didn't go on steroids. </span></li>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Good, right? Do you know which one is the lie? Probably not because they're so good. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Idea Two: Make a list of all the strange things I do daily.</b></span></div>
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<li>I count while I pee. I don't even think about it. I just count. What can I say, I'm really good with numbers. And peeing.</li>
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That's it. I'm perfectly normal besides that.</div>
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<b>Idea Three: Write direct quotes from a girl's Sacrament Talk</b></div>
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So I go to church (yay me!) and I also don't really know anyone in my ward (yay Provo YSA wards!) so I typically don't know the speakers either. Well, this one girl gave an awesome talk yesterday and I started writing down quotes from her talk. Before you get all impressed that I take notes in Sacrament just know that none of it was spiritual. Just hilarious. And it went a little something like this:</div>
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<li>"What up brothers and sisters?"</li>
<li>"Sometimes I get really overwhelmed with all of this. I can't be perfect; I like Tupac too much."</li>
<li>"Jesus is in the Garden of Gethsemane and all he asks of his apostles is to stay awake with him. And what do they do? Homeboys fall asleep!"</li>
<li>"I can't be a cool Provo girl--I don't have enough Instagram followers."</li>
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Ok, so maybe this was funnier when I was hungry and kind of bored. Also, did I mention that I was in Sacrament Meeting? <i>Then</i> I stalked her on Facebook while she gave her talk. I thought she was funny so I wanted to be her friend. (I normally try to refrain from Facebook during church and stick with the more spiritual apps like Unblock Me (a highly underrated, yet intriguing game) or my digital Japanese flashcards, but becoming her new best friend was very important to me.)</div>
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In other news, Thanksgiving was last weekend. It was great and I ate turkey. I did not do homework.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yes, I know this is a chicken. Snapchat didn't supply the turkey emoji :(</td></tr>
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Kodahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14083750788732556169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3798246085022481086.post-50041033227662159002015-07-20T08:44:00.000-07:002015-07-20T08:44:15.589-07:00Why I dress modestly Once upon a time I used to write blog posts mostly for humor. But now that I started writing rant posts, I can't seem to stop. I would say sorry, but I'm not apologetic enough to quit just quite yet.<br />
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So why do I dress modestly? As a kid I was taught that we dress modestly because our bodies are temples. I didn't wear bikinis. I didn't wear sleeveless prom dresses. I didn't wear Daisy Dukes simply because they weren't "modest." <br />
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Then I started to think about why I <i>really</i> dressed modestly. I didn't dress modestly because I was taught to, I did it because I respected myself. I had confidence and didn't feel the need to seek for the attention of guys based off of my body/clothing. I didn't want that kind of attention, so I didn't dress in a way to get that kind of attention. <br />
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As I got older we didn't just learn from adults, we started to get testimonials from the guys our age. Clean, trim teenage boys would stand in front of me and the other girls and talk about our beauty and how we should guard it because we didn't know the mind of a male. We didn't understand how hard it was for them to control their thoughts. And then they'd thank us for dressing modestly because it helped them keep their thoughts clean and helped them to be better. And then the moms would swoon because everyone loves a pure hearted boy who just wants to stay clean so he can marry a perfectly pure virgin in the temple. And more than one girl would swoon because she just wanted to marry a boy who wanted her to wear knee length shorts and shirts with sleeves to control his thoughts. <br />
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And I would sit there confused. <br />
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<i>Wait, you people are actually buying this??</i> Was I the only one who saw the absurdity in this boy's remarks? Had I been mistaken? Was I dressing modestly not because I respect myself and don't want the attention of low life guys, but because a bare shoulder would spark a young man into thinking dirty things about me? No. I dressed modestly for myself and no one else. If guys can't control their thoughts, that's their problem--not mine. <br />
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More time went on and I found that other women also hated the discussion of modesty and how it objectified the female body. I wasn't the only one who cringed when they heard "Modest is Hottest," and it felt good to know that not everyone was buying into this whole messed up idea of modesty. So why am I even writing about this topic if so many women have already done so <a href="http://www.beautyredefined.net/modest-is-hottest-the-revealing-truth/" target="_blank">here</a> and <a href="http://www.confessionsofateenagebride.com/2014/06/modest-is-not-hottest.html" target="_blank">here</a> and <a href="http://www.standard.net/Hers/2014/08/12/Modest-is-not-hottest-Beauty-Redefined-says-girls-deserve-better" target="_blank">here</a>? Because I realized that I was beginning to dress modestly for reasons other than just self respect. I was wearing one pieces because I didn't want to feel the judgmental stares of the people on my bare midriff. Mind you, these weren't the stares of regular people at some city pool or even of a hormonal teenage boy--these were the stares of my fellow Mormon "brothers" and "sisters."<br />
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As LDS members, we live lives of pretty high standards. And although it is great that we push ourselves daily to keep up these standards, we often forget that it's not our job to hold other people to these standards as well. Middle School and High School can be rough, but I was never judged for wearing shorts two inches above my knee in Ohio. But you better believe it happens on BYU campus. Of course, there is an honor code involved in this as well, but overall we (as Mormons) tend to be extremely judgmental of each other. <br />
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So here's an example from my life. I run. Well, sometimes I run. And when it's hot I run in my sports bra. But since I run in Provo, the city that consists of BYU and mostly Mormons, I feel awkward running without a shirt. Mind you, men run around shirtless all the time, but heaven forbid I run in a sports bra and show three inches of my stomach. Anyway, because I'd rather not have people judge me, I will run with a shirt until I get to Center St. and then take off my shirt. Or I'll run in the mountains where no one really cares. <br />
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And when it comes to bathing suits, I don't wear bikinis. I just don't really think it's my style, and I don't feel that comfortable wearing them, but I really don't think wearing a bikini is much more sexual than wearing a one piece. We're all wearing basically nothing. I can tell what your body looks like whether you're wearing a one piece or not. But mostly, if I were to wear a bikini other Mormons would judge me as one of <i>those</i> Mormons. One that pushes the rules. One that just isn't that good. And I know this because <i>I </i>do this all the time. It's so easy to judge people off of their appearances. <br />
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But this is ridiculous. Just because things like modesty, or Sunday observance, or language are so easy for outsiders to judge, doesn't mean we should be doing any judging at all. What if that boy who speaks kindly of others and always acts politely is struggling with pornography? What if that girl who always dresses modestly has had problems with the law of chastity? Both of those things are much more serious than modesty and language, and yet we still judge people based on what we see. <br />
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What I mostly want to say isn't just about modesty. I guess I'm just talking about judgement. And how stupid it is. We all have trials. We all have faults. We all need to be better. We shouldn't judge someone about their clothing (although I do recognize it can reflect the type of morals you have) and we shouldn't judge people's morality because we have no place to judge with our own faults. Remember that story about the woman taken to Christ because she had committed adultery. And what did Christ say? "He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her." <a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/nt/john/8?lang=eng" target="_blank">John 8:7</a><br />
The crowd dispersed because no one is without sin and Christ said, "Neither do I condemn thee: go, and sin no more." Christ didn't approve of the woman's sin, but even He, our Savior who is sinless didn't judge her. Do you feel dumb for judging others yet? I do.<br />
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So this is where I'll return to modesty. Do I think modesty is important? Yes. Of course I do. Do I think that we put too much pressure on girls to dress modestly for reasons outside of their responsibilities? Yes. I don't want to dress modestly to avoid lustful eyes and I don't want to dress modestly because if I don't, other Mormons will think I'm a wayward member. That's stupid.<br />
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I have read article after article about why people pick one piece bathing suits over bikinis, but it always comes down to body objectification and judgement. And I don't like that.<br />
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And to end. Here is a picture of me and my friend wearing tasteful one pieces. Do you think I'm a perfect Mormon now? Because you shouldn't.<br />
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<br />Kodahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14083750788732556169noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3798246085022481086.post-51672247081327889712015-06-29T08:32:00.000-07:002015-06-29T11:04:26.637-07:00Gay Marriage DisputeSocial media has been brutal this past weekend. So many opinions, so many articles, so many arguments. And even though I wanted to just avoid it all, I couldn't help but read everything I came across. I wanted to hear both sides. I wanted to try and understand this supposedly important debate about gay marriage. But mostly I was just sad.<br />
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Before I get into anything I just want to say that I can honestly empathize with both sides. At one point in my life I really thought that being gay was a choice. I remember saying once, "Bisexual people are just horny and will hook up with anyone." I was <i>that</i> closed minded and <i>that</i> judgmental. I'm not saying that those of you opposing gay marriage think such horrible things, but I really did have strong opinions against it all. Then I grew up some, had more life experiences, gained gay friends and my opinions changed. Now I'm at the point where I'm not upset about gay marriage in all 50 states. I'm even happy about it. But the thing that hasn't changed is my belief in the family--and marriage is the base of that. As a Mormon, I have confidence in our faith and am comforted knowing that temple marriages will always be between a man and a woman. So if you're living the gospel, stop freaking out. If you live the way you're supposed to, then you don't have to obsess about gay marriage. Have some faith.<br />
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I think it's totally fine to state your beliefs on social media, but I just hope it's for the right reason. I saw many people post things on both sides that were tasteful and not emotionally driven. But I saw a lot of posts that were judgmental and far from loving. And this was on both sides. <br />
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I'm going to be a bit hypocritical here, because I need to work on this as well, but we really need to be more Christlike. I'm not saying that being Christlike is to drop your beliefs and accept the opposing view's ways. I'm saying you need to be loving. We need to stop looking at each other based off of the labels we have separated ourselves into. We need to think about how our words do influence people. If you had a gay brother, would you word your comments the same? Your beliefs wouldn't change, but I'm sure you'd think about how your words would affect him. <br />
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Some people say, "Taking offense is a choice." I agree, but that doesn't mean it's not hard. I'm not a crier; I just don't really like to cry. But after reading a few days worth of Facebook "discussions" I ended my day by giving a heartfelt prayer to replace my anger with love, and to make the sting lessen. And then I cried myself to sleep. <br />
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We have to stop judging people. We are always going to have different opinions, and sometimes they will be about topics in which we will have strong opinions and feelings. This is a test of your charity. Please, share your beliefs all you want, but don't be pointing fingers. It's not a surprise you're all mad at each other. Everyone knows a conversation will never end well when it's always "you do this" or "I don't like how you...".<br />
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This was definitely a rant post, but I know I'm not the only one who feels this way and I'm fairly certain you were the people who kept quiet all weekend. So, I'm sorry if you had a sucky weekend as well. I still believe that people are inherently good, but the internet is just so good at providing mediums for tactless comments. <br />
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Oh, and please don't say "The next thing we know polygamy will be legalized!" Because guess what--we already did that.Kodahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14083750788732556169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3798246085022481086.post-66919492863461579332015-06-26T10:32:00.000-07:002015-06-26T10:32:44.318-07:00That's why it's called FAITHI am LDS. I grew up Mormon, went to church every Sunday, went to Early Morning Seminary every weekday through high school, go to BYU, served a full time mission, and basically just drip of Mormon shiz. But I guess I'm done just playing that part of the model Mormon. Because I'm not, and I don't want to trick people into thinking that I am. Let's be real. I've got problems. And I'm pretty darn sure all of you have got problems of your own. It's not like we need to make our trials public on our Facebook walls, or explain our sins at the pulpit #awkwardtestimonyproblems, but we don't have to make people think that we've got it all together and that our faith is super strong and unwavering. Because news flash: faith doesn't necessarily mean sure knowledge. Remember that scripture that says, "...faith is not to have a perfect knowledge of things; therefore if ye have faith ye hope for things which are not seen, which are true" <a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/bofm/alma/32.21?lang=eng#20" target="_blank">(Alma 32:21)</a>. Alright, the English major in me wants to explain why I used that quote, but I'm gonna break the rules (because I'm super edgy) and just let you ponder on that while you simultaneously continue reading. You can do it. You're probably smart.<br />
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So here's the thing. I've got questions. I've got loads of them. Does that make me a bad Mormon? No, of course not. People are always saying it's good to have questions. It's ok to have doubts. I'm pretty sure lots of people wonder why marriage and family are the focus of our faith, but some people never can get married and some women can never have children. No one really knows why black people couldn't hold the priesthood until 1978. There are a lot of things we just don't know. But it's when you voice certain questions, or certain doubts when people start to get awkward. And suddenly if you have these questions, they judge your faith, or what kind of Mormon you are. (Whatever that means.) So here is an example that I can think of off the top of my head that is guaranteed to make many members cringe. Women and the priesthood (or the lack of). Did that make you wince? Did you shrink at the thought of talking about this in Sunday School because you've had some uncomfortable memories? Do you wonder about this yourself, but feel like if you bring it up people will question your faith? Ok sorry, I'll stop bombarding you with rhetorical questions.<br />
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I'm starting a new paragraph because the other one was getting too long. My English professors would not be impressed. Anyway. Why do we get so uncomfortable when women and the priesthood gets mentioned? There are many questions we can't answer, but why is this question the awkward preteen covered in acne and self-consciousness when the other questions are just cute and ignorant? (That was my attempt at personifying questions.) There are probably lots of reasons, but I am going to focus on one explanation. Really, what I think it comes down to is our attempts of reasoning our way out of the question. Instead of giving real answers (because we don't KNOW right now) we try to explain why women don't have the priesthood. How many times have you heard that women don't have the priesthood because their role is to have children? Or that men are the lesser sex so they NEED the priesthood to make them better. Gag me with a spoon. Please. This post's purpose isn't to talk about women and the priesthood, but let me clarify some things before I move on. First of all, don't compare priesthood with motherhood. They're not comparable. <i>Fatherhood</i> and motherhood is the binary. Priesthood has nothing to do with that. Second, women are not better than men, so don't try to make me feel better about not holding the priesthood by placing me on a pedestal. <br />
<br />
Ok I'm done with that. But if you want to read about 13 more pages of that click <a href="https://docs.google.com/document/d/1zZ80zGc9jFseVH6rxx7V-OJvvGo-XgMdwsLAnIG0Xds/edit?usp=sharing" target="_blank">here</a>. I wrote a paper about <i>The Feminine Mystique</i> and how it relates to the LDS culture last semester. <br />
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And this is where I'll try to bring this all back together. People, YOU DON'T NEED TO KNOW THE ANSWERS TO EVERYTHING. Because we just don't know everything right now and the minute you start reasoning your way through questions you've got people saying that men suck so they have the priesthood and women aren't worthy if they aren't mothers. It's OKAY to say "I don't know." You can have super duper awesome faith without knowing because like Alma 32 said, it's not a perfect knowledge, it's a <i>hope. </i>If we knew the answer to all our religious questions, faith wouldn't be necessary. I believe that having questions and facing your doubts is the ultimate act of faith. Not knowing is scary, but that's why we have faith. It's a hope for things that are true. I have a pretty solid testimony that God is my loving Heavenly Father. I also know that Jesus Christ is my Savior and Redeemer. I can't claim that I know everything else. I might believe, or maybe just hope. But that's good enough. The prophet and the apostles are the ones who are supposed to be special witnesses of Jesus Christ. We should be sharing our witness to others, but it's not the same. <br />
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So again, let's be real. I love being Mormon. I love the direction and happiness it has provided me. I love how the Gospel of Jesus Christ gives my life meaning and pushes me to be better. I will try to be my best self, but I'm not gonna try to make you think I've got it all together. But even though my life might seem like a mess right now, that doesn't mean it always will. I have that faith, but that doesn't mean it's perfect. Because is that even possible?Kodahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14083750788732556169noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3798246085022481086.post-44310392221693311152015-05-13T10:31:00.001-07:002015-05-13T10:39:17.597-07:00Bra ShoppingI think it's safe to assume that most of you know me. Or know enough about me. Enough to know that I'm pretty flat. We really don't need to get into the details of that, (because there's not much to work with) but I honestly don't mind having a flat rack. When I was in middle school I hung out with a group of girls that mostly consisted of super athletic, super thin, and super flat 13-year-olds. <br />
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A few of the girls blossomed earlier, but the other half of us were definitely late bloomers and boobs weren't a part of our personal lives. I wasn't necessarily a late bloomer, but considering the fact that I'm not exactly blessed now, I definitely wasn't blessed then. The thing is, I actually <i>wanted</i> to be flatter<i> </i>so I could look more like my skinnier and flatter friends. <br />
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I'm being completely serious.</div>
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But. As much I thrive in the life of a small breasted woman, I still have to buy bras. And I'm not just talking about sports bras (which I love and own a pretty impressive collection if I do say so myself). No, I'm talking about women's bras. Bras with cup sizes and other numbers that confuse me. I have gone "real" bra shopping a total of three times in my life. Yes, three. I'm not lying when I tell you I hate bra shopping. I might be ok with my cup size, but I would rather go furniture shopping (which I can comfortably say that I <i><b>hate</b></i>) over bra shopping. It's just not fun for flat people. I'm sure it's not that fun for super busty women either, but they have nothing to do with me, so I don't care about their problems. </div>
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It sucks trying to just <i>find</i> the section that carries bras for less "endowed" women because it's so small...haha (^_^;). Usually it's near the Junior's section which you can find by following the trail of pink and signs that say things like, "my first bra," or "just for fun." It sucks to tell the lady working in the intimates section your sizing and see her searching through the racks trying to find something that works. It sucks to try on a bra and not be able to fill it. It sucks when all the bras in your size are push-up bras because the manufacturers just assume you want your boobs to look like Bs and not As. It sucks when you fill it because that only reaffirms your cup size. It sucks when you actually buy a bra because they're EXPENSIVE AND I DON'T EVEN WANT IT. It sucks when five years later you realize you need to go bra shopping again.</div>
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So I am 23 years old and just went bra shopping for the third time in my life last week. It actually wasn't totally traumatizing because I'm less flat than I was at age 15 (look Mom, I grew!) so Kohl's sold things my size, and because my mom found these bras that are like a hybrid of a WOMAN'S bra and a sports bra. I'm still pretty excited about the fact that I'm wearing a real bra but really it's a sports bra in disguise. Since this last process went quite smoothly I was able to get it done with fairly quickly and mosied around the brassier section while my mom finished up. These are the kind of things you will read if you embark on an adventure like mine.</div>
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<ul>
<li><span style="color: magenta; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Lift and shape"</span></li>
<li><span style="color: magenta; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Body caress"</span></li>
<li><span style="color: magenta; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Eliminates back fat"</span></li>
<li><span style="color: magenta; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Memory foam cups contour to you!"</span></li>
<li><span style="color: magenta; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Puts the "girls" back where they belong"</span></li>
<li><span style="color: magenta; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Our biggest push up bra yet!"</span></li>
<li><span style="color: magenta; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"No more underarm bulge"</span></li>
<li><span style="color: magenta; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Ego Boost" (this was obviously for a push-up bra)</span></li>
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Is it just me, or are the descriptions on the bra packaging surprisingly visual despite the use of euphemisms?<br />
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Also. This jem.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">But the muffin top is the best part!</td></tr>
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One day I'll be a woman. And I'm pretty sure that "woman" will still hate bra shopping.</div>
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Kodahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14083750788732556169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3798246085022481086.post-74220471910076132942015-04-30T12:38:00.001-07:002015-04-30T12:38:12.172-07:00Why I'd make an awesome girlfriend/wife.I am a single, 23 year old woman. In other words, I am in the hunt for a man to make my husband. Or so you would assume considering I am Mormon and at BYU. But in case you were wondering--I am actually not currently searching to get hitched. I'm not avoiding it, but it's really not what I'm basing my happiness and success off of right now. It's something that I don't want to waste my effort/worry on. If it happens it happens. If not, then I'm glad I didn't spend how many months/years worrying over my singleness.<br />
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But as chill and put-together as I may sound, that doesn't mean I don't think about relationships and marriage. I actually think about it quite a lot because like I said, I am 23 and at BYU. You can't just avoid conversations about relationships; they make up half (or more) of the conversations I hear or are part of. Really, I might have recently stopped worried about finding someone and getting hitched, but I <i>do</i> wonder why all the guys aren't fawning over me. Why they're not falling head over heals for me. <br />
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Did that seem conceited? A bit arrogant? Of course it did. I have this problem (is it <i>really</i> a problem?) where I think fairly (ok, very) highly of myself. Heck, I'm freaking awesome and sometimes I wonder why all the guys out there don't think the same of me. So here's a list of why I'd make an AWESOME girlfriend/wife. And yes, I was the person who compiled it. You can add on if I miss any.<br />
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1. I'm fit and work out (sometimes).<br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">2. I shower often.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6uJ-m2nBqxtndXX6zZPXYuh_p7JgB0xAazrY34v_If-9XZh7dM5x1ZMe4sb35uk3DY3PKTnQsuL5HvPss7PR5bpYfVcMslINwkXkqWcZ7n4Ac86ngpsk8lS6KB0fzz-VjLEi08iAoY2ID/s640/blogger-image-1367313611.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6uJ-m2nBqxtndXX6zZPXYuh_p7JgB0xAazrY34v_If-9XZh7dM5x1ZMe4sb35uk3DY3PKTnQsuL5HvPss7PR5bpYfVcMslINwkXkqWcZ7n4Ac86ngpsk8lS6KB0fzz-VjLEi08iAoY2ID/s640/blogger-image-1367313611.jpg" /></a></div>
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3. I love steak.</div>
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4. I drive a minivan.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir-Dbz9jn6Mp1b5blWIvBke_1IA-OOATVYMu9RaYfAbbZjuyb027ZCsDEmXiP6cheMynfUQ4kBpFuF2UPywfN9TgKYFB41jhZ6QEP70DVtfyxcBr3HuPOadGUs9nwFa_OD5Fp4KGy8jsU1/s640/blogger-image-1803791540.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir-Dbz9jn6Mp1b5blWIvBke_1IA-OOATVYMu9RaYfAbbZjuyb027ZCsDEmXiP6cheMynfUQ4kBpFuF2UPywfN9TgKYFB41jhZ6QEP70DVtfyxcBr3HuPOadGUs9nwFa_OD5Fp4KGy8jsU1/s640/blogger-image-1803791540.jpg" /></a></div>
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5. I like to party.</div>
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6. I'm hard working.</div>
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7. I'm freaking sexy.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8f55lbmGlkK0cwZA6G4CtKC6QA4c5kM-OOGrgXPRFyfr9nvgE0JdIlwiJb-QLn5MGfRN-BfAeftzBt_3zg_2g0NYspaS9mrxQbypez0capG3TEsYNIIQafHlpYUmFeG3PflQDggVZHkuU/s640/blogger-image-1297616928.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8f55lbmGlkK0cwZA6G4CtKC6QA4c5kM-OOGrgXPRFyfr9nvgE0JdIlwiJb-QLn5MGfRN-BfAeftzBt_3zg_2g0NYspaS9mrxQbypez0capG3TEsYNIIQafHlpYUmFeG3PflQDggVZHkuU/s640/blogger-image-1297616928.jpg" /></a></div>
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8. My style is equally sexy.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjen-KieL-ZoHP_ApJevIPGViCw9UamX3c7TkJfEK45auIhSuN3l5u7r5Gx7LNf5y1UTsiOmG4srBaoQVffSSM_l46NBX-KD5ce6-o9C6OGiHJv-nIkSVKdG1p7Q6cgrWdNlIvExKYl3TGS/s640/blogger-image-1405807206.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjen-KieL-ZoHP_ApJevIPGViCw9UamX3c7TkJfEK45auIhSuN3l5u7r5Gx7LNf5y1UTsiOmG4srBaoQVffSSM_l46NBX-KD5ce6-o9C6OGiHJv-nIkSVKdG1p7Q6cgrWdNlIvExKYl3TGS/s640/blogger-image-1405807206.jpg" /></a></div>
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9. I'm a serious blader.</div>
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10. I'll get naked for you. As long as you pay me back.</div>
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11. I have an awesome smile.</div>
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12. But most importantly: I can cook...really good popcorn.<br />
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I mean, I'd date me...</div>
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Kodahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14083750788732556169noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3798246085022481086.post-87162097475558256092015-03-30T16:48:00.000-07:002015-03-30T16:48:40.792-07:0010 signs that you have an overactive/child size bladderI live a good life. A blessed life. A life filled with awesome things like Netflix and ice cream. But I also live the life of a small bladdered woman. What's it like to have a small bladder? Well, today I went to the bathroom five times in a a five-hour work shift. All because I drank 3/4 of a water bottle.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlNp3F-qAf_WJZfhDEgF3bbJ7EDxLitjvRPNAPb99ZOoYfUqKht3bm5GLYpOAAF3dFinI-fsovTP02yFifHd997KTc8nPdaRfb7YwVg6VZS79dr4SD0hLMRKojnkLkRcRd0Y_ES5DSaT9F/s640/blogger-image--836870777.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlNp3F-qAf_WJZfhDEgF3bbJ7EDxLitjvRPNAPb99ZOoYfUqKht3bm5GLYpOAAF3dFinI-fsovTP02yFifHd997KTc8nPdaRfb7YwVg6VZS79dr4SD0hLMRKojnkLkRcRd0Y_ES5DSaT9F/s320/blogger-image--836870777.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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It's not like this is a rare thing; if I'm somewhat hydrated, chances are I have to pee. And if not, I'll probably have to in 5 minutes. This is no laughing matter and trips to the bathroom are a big part of my life, so I thought I'd make a list of 10 signs you have an overactive/child size bladder. Just in case you're not sure.<br />
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<b>10 signs you have an overactive/child size bladder</b><br />
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1. You can't sleep-in past 8 am because you have to pee.<br />
2. Your most recurring dream is one that involves you searching for a freaking toilet that either isn't broken, in a unisex bathroom without stalls, or out in the public for everyone to witness. <br />
3. You don't drink fluids on road trips or plane rides.<br />
4. You sit in the isle seat on planes so you have easier access to those scary small contraptions that suck away your waste instead of flushing it.<br />
5. Ordering a large drink is more of a punishment than an upgrade.<br />
6. You are highly experienced and skilled at urinating in a squating position.<br />
7. You can pee anywhere and have marked your territory on many a location.<br />
8. The last 30 minutes of a movie in a movie theater is super painful because you've been holding it for over an hour.<br />
9. You know the location of the restrooms in all the buildings you frequent often.<br />
10. You write blog posts about your bladder.<br />
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I hope this was educational and informative. For those of you that are blessed with larger bladders, I hope you could get a glimpse of what I have to deal with on a hourly basis. And for those that <i>can</i> empathize with me--I hope your life will be filled with clean public bathrooms, and a plethora of toilet paper (if you're a girl).Kodahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14083750788732556169noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3798246085022481086.post-32828454340604023612015-03-09T13:25:00.000-07:002015-03-09T13:29:43.144-07:00TinderThe first time I heard about Tinder was when I was a missionary. My little sister was explaining it to me through an email and I almost fell out of my chair it sounded so ridiculous. And worldly. And shallow. And sketch. And gross. But keep in mind, I was also a missionary, so I considered things like hugging someone of the opposite sex inappropriate. It's all about perceptions, right?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNaHSVW1mTyJE523RdHIzgX6X8egW3rCgVKEOdhdqeZGZ0aFlkp5AuDEp19xhK4Ss4wcFGj__vXTvLYo0oae7HY84Zpf27EUhtje1gWVtMIJv7qgG2SnTDuwQ7-8dDvSgMQ0evYVXxvRwP/s1600/Tinder-Travel-App.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNaHSVW1mTyJE523RdHIzgX6X8egW3rCgVKEOdhdqeZGZ0aFlkp5AuDEp19xhK4Ss4wcFGj__vXTvLYo0oae7HY84Zpf27EUhtje1gWVtMIJv7qgG2SnTDuwQ7-8dDvSgMQ0evYVXxvRwP/s1600/Tinder-Travel-App.png" height="232" width="400" /></a></div>
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If you don't know about Tinder, it's kind of like a dating site that's free, pretty popular, and a lot more questionable. You write a short bio, add a few photos of yourself and then you start judging people with the swipe of a finger. If you like what you see, you swipe right. If you're not interested, left. If you both are interested in the other, you're matched and you can start chatting. It's kind of like a chat room, but more romantic. I have heard of relationships and even marriages stemming from Tinder, but you never want to admit that you met that special someone through Tinder because it doesn't have the best reputation. The fact that you get matched up with single people miles away just based off of photos is pretty superficial, and most often leads to superficial relationships. A.K.A. hooking up. Also, I'm talking about the use of Tinder in Utah (the land of the Mormons) so hooking up means making out. Just to clarify. <br />
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So as you can imagine, my squeaky clean missionary self might have choked on the idea of Tinder and all it stands for, but we all know that once we get home from our missions we turn into our regular carnal selves again. Jokes. (And sadly slightly true.) Anyway, it was just a matter of time before I made a Tinder account of my own. Remember when I made a <a href="http://adonetsirk.blogspot.com/2015/02/find-me-on-matchcom.html" target="_blank">Match.com</a> profile for that one class? Well, I actually made a Tinder account first, but dropped it when I realized it didn't fit the assignment as well. I moved on to better things. But when my match.com profile was shut down because I was apparently too much AWESOME for the online dating world I remembered that I had made a Tinder account and hadn't done anything with it. I mean, I had already downloaded the app, I might as well give it a try...right?? <br />
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But don't judge!! I wasn't going to actually use it! It was more like a joke! I had made it for a class assignment!! <br />
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We all have our Tinder excuses. But like all excuses, they don't really mean anything. For example: I excuse myself from donating blood because I'm too petite, but actually meet the weight requirements easily. Here's another: I don't shave my legs more than once a month because I'm a hairless Asian, but mostly I'm just lazy. Like I said, excuses. I had made an account, added a few somewhat photogenic pictures of myself, and started swiping. And swiping. And swiping. I swiped at work. I swiped at the gym (the one time I went this week). I swiped while doing homework. I swiped while eating cereal. (I probably swiped while eating other things, but mostly I just eat cereal.) Something was so addicting about glancing at a photo for .2 seconds and judging if they were good enough for me. I'd probably swipe right once for every fifteen guys. See? I'm not desperate! See how I turned down all those guys? See how I have enough self respect and confidence to think I'm more attractive than the majority of them? It's kind of like the really sick and shallow game I play when I sit in a room of 30 people or less and judge whether or not I'm the most attractive person. I must have a skewed sense of judgment, because I usually come to the conclusion that I am the most aesthetically blessed in the room. Anyway, if nothing screams poor/unsubstantial source of confidence like those two examples, I don't know what does.<br />
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But I wasn't just judging looks. Oh no, I was judging people's character. Their virtue. Their very <i>being</i>. All from a few pictures and a few sentences in their bio. I mean, "a picture says a thousand words and you have TWO of them!" Chances are I messed up that quote, but I'm too lazy to check. But really. I judged these guys hardcore. It's like there was a contest for who was the most macho man of all masculine men in a 30 mile radius, and they were all on Tinder. Seriously, I have never seen so many shirtless pics. So many pictures of boys doing manly stuff like snowboarding/skiing, or fishing, or camping/backpacking somewhere epic, or hunting because GUNS! Is this what guys think girls want? Do they think they have to present themselves like this in order to get the equally desperate ladies on Tinder? And I don't mean to only bash the guys, but since they're all I see, that's all I have to work with. Although I'm sure the ladies have equally embarrassing and revealing pictures posted as well.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn46sQPnVHu49k2hcItU9Wpu9wEyaa5Gx9J9L_EifGQdcG3X3yIfYkWic2aZhaGbSv_VRB9L6MKhSTazNC7pBgscqmEE-0K8DYoeTUXhHWpbWUloA2EEnqxozQ3jbdi7t9UvKLyQSN-rjd/s1600/enhanced-buzz-25099-1389386895-0.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn46sQPnVHu49k2hcItU9Wpu9wEyaa5Gx9J9L_EifGQdcG3X3yIfYkWic2aZhaGbSv_VRB9L6MKhSTazNC7pBgscqmEE-0K8DYoeTUXhHWpbWUloA2EEnqxozQ3jbdi7t9UvKLyQSN-rjd/s1600/enhanced-buzz-25099-1389386895-0.jpg" height="400" width="263" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Shirtless pic, AND he's fishing. Two birds, one stone.<br />
Also, please note his poetic tagline.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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But I deter. <br />
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And then the mirror selfies. Oh my lanta, the selfies. Don't you know that you ALWAYS look dumb in a mirror selfie? First of all, you're not staring at the camera lens, you're staring at your phone's screen. Second, your phone is blocking half your face. Third, you had to have taken at least five other selfies just to get that perfect angle of your abs. And fourth, do you really think your bathroom is the best setting for a picture? I can't even tell you how <i>good</i> I felt about myself when I rejected these guys. They might have washboard abs and pecs bigger than my own fully developed breasts (fairly certain they're done "growing"), but that's not all I look for in a man on Tinder. No sir, I care about things beyond appearance. I care about their character. I care about what's in their heart. I care about what kind of husband he could become. Wait, you don't think about marriage before you even go on a first date? Yeah, me neither...<br />
<br />
But then things started to get serious. My roommate, Rachel, started conversations with some of my matches. I know I wasn't doing this Tinder thing seriously, but it was pretty embarrassing when Rachel started a conversation with "Heyyy." I knew I'd probably never meet the guy, but I turn red just thinking that someone put my face and "heyyy" together. But regardless of how stupid I thought Tinder was, I was still swiping and every time I got a match with someone attractive it gave me a little ego boost. I had no plans of actually meeting these guys, but it still made me feel good about myself. In a super meaningless and warped way.<br />
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But then guys really did start asking if I wanted to hang out and even though I was taking this whole Tinder thing more seriously than I had originally planned, I was not going to "hang out" with anyone. So I deleted it. <br />
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And gollyyyyy, did I feel good about myself after that. I gained more confidence and respect for myself than when a really hot guy swiped right on my photo. I had gone into this whole Tinder thing as a joke, and never really did get serious about it--but I still cared. And that annoyed me. So yeah. I don't have a Tinder anymore, but I don't care if you have one. I'll admit, it's fun. But for now, I'm just going to continue living my very single life. Because I actually kind of hate dating anyway.<br />
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<br />Kodahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14083750788732556169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3798246085022481086.post-72933990891500151612015-03-01T19:33:00.000-08:002015-03-01T19:33:43.683-08:00Thoughts while I worked on a take-home exam.Just a little background information: Last night (a Saturday night, mind you) I was spending way more time on a take-home essay/exam than I wanted and these were some thoughts I had (and obviously recorded on my phone). Funny how I was able to find memes that had to do with my very thoughts. Looks like I'm not alone.<br />
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<li>Take-home exams always sound better than a regular exam--until you have to do them.</li>
<li>Why do they make the due date on a weekend at midnight? My procrastination and social life are not getting along at the moment.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXJbams3MylTYUORRUsA5rzfebwHAYd7LMzPP3_8LS-LRlnKSXqqq7LvOPQnPRJf8FXDEm5YQU1vxwW-JtCjuLfMaxP_LUbKTKweUEsi3sZWLHPgU-Kwetv-hedo_lnc-bRlYbiM1XUCHa/s1600/3201444d5af6322e84046d2c0d70b254.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXJbams3MylTYUORRUsA5rzfebwHAYd7LMzPP3_8LS-LRlnKSXqqq7LvOPQnPRJf8FXDEm5YQU1vxwW-JtCjuLfMaxP_LUbKTKweUEsi3sZWLHPgU-Kwetv-hedo_lnc-bRlYbiM1XUCHa/s1600/3201444d5af6322e84046d2c0d70b254.jpg" /></a></div>
</li>
<li>The goal was to finish this exam at 9pm, but it's due at midnight, so I guess I always knew what time I'd actually finish.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXmyBhkizsJ9O-AWZy9Zs2QmHrDMiycpzjdM5gQfGz4Qm99k5E7_9aW4u46Jj544irG8vc-_lrar0T_PeMe9RKgOsIJhQWGGfR0cAJvMx4bjBgmQWKE_9LohAmkocX7JOoftattxgdO_Km/s1600/4ded69bbf001e79f571b80e02f58bac4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXmyBhkizsJ9O-AWZy9Zs2QmHrDMiycpzjdM5gQfGz4Qm99k5E7_9aW4u46Jj544irG8vc-_lrar0T_PeMe9RKgOsIJhQWGGfR0cAJvMx4bjBgmQWKE_9LohAmkocX7JOoftattxgdO_Km/s1600/4ded69bbf001e79f571b80e02f58bac4.jpg" height="318" width="320" /></a></div>
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<li>It's hard to write papers while fasting. Now I have to find all my distractions through the internet.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9y7I5_M7PdPiRH-0Rd6wI5hmtgcrEWwV00LUmvq2erDAcoB3XbS65EeL3Q9A2ZamWqPIxahQ-iQuH7gIsxUrXbMXsVBZcFy6nXfgT_WKoIy5B_vdHS8XryGrRL6LAiHsl1RqaDFd5Aq6i/s1600/314e5b0ee2c74195c37b3881ea44491d.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9y7I5_M7PdPiRH-0Rd6wI5hmtgcrEWwV00LUmvq2erDAcoB3XbS65EeL3Q9A2ZamWqPIxahQ-iQuH7gIsxUrXbMXsVBZcFy6nXfgT_WKoIy5B_vdHS8XryGrRL6LAiHsl1RqaDFd5Aq6i/s1600/314e5b0ee2c74195c37b3881ea44491d.jpg" height="320" width="245" /></a></div>
</li>
<li>Maybe writing my paper on my bed lying down wasn't a good idea.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4VHIQD5naLthjjjkIAYB-fhrDlPQJAqnx_Yfmt4acgw8AtDrnt228jsW-0EovAIX0HK29xxXLl4q4kV5-uB7oSK76EsFetGyR0ExVDF7mAOO6o3MQ9_FccyXu8tckyhVnAWKO9LMrZ0G-/s1600/ca0fa076780eaa8d3f0857457a61f3d6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4VHIQD5naLthjjjkIAYB-fhrDlPQJAqnx_Yfmt4acgw8AtDrnt228jsW-0EovAIX0HK29xxXLl4q4kV5-uB7oSK76EsFetGyR0ExVDF7mAOO6o3MQ9_FccyXu8tckyhVnAWKO9LMrZ0G-/s1600/ca0fa076780eaa8d3f0857457a61f3d6.jpg" height="320" width="184" /></a></div>
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<li>I wonder what it's like to live a life without procrastinating...probably boring.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivK-K9FcMkWWcY4gl_OOgfoiIo2VNZQWd-VSwPf51B2oTBhJgWm1QVto1Bd5q5pvDifRwillYOi6qoym2MYI5HHgghVkfmkGLzzbLUcjHT2EUZ6_tAwROENQepCu7oZYuwKPYcBuo9OeAp/s1600/136f8935eaafab7037e3e98a4fa73764.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivK-K9FcMkWWcY4gl_OOgfoiIo2VNZQWd-VSwPf51B2oTBhJgWm1QVto1Bd5q5pvDifRwillYOi6qoym2MYI5HHgghVkfmkGLzzbLUcjHT2EUZ6_tAwROENQepCu7oZYuwKPYcBuo9OeAp/s1600/136f8935eaafab7037e3e98a4fa73764.jpg" height="264" width="320" /></a></div>
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</li>
<li>Taking an exam is like dying by bullet in the head. Take home exams are like getting your finger nails ripped from your hands and <i>then</i> slowly starving to death in the Sahara Desert. <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdVvq4n3eiwvxxNUhzVZ2rr48yw24TsVktT-FdMSh7XRgl2dvp4_10lADNQJoi8vsgx1xtvrtZAyEAvBVh_dbXNEGJ_LigH_BmJqwcznWYlv782ztR-E8-OvB9ef0E__EX_Yin_IYQdB8t/s1600/crazy-squidward-paper.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdVvq4n3eiwvxxNUhzVZ2rr48yw24TsVktT-FdMSh7XRgl2dvp4_10lADNQJoi8vsgx1xtvrtZAyEAvBVh_dbXNEGJ_LigH_BmJqwcznWYlv782ztR-E8-OvB9ef0E__EX_Yin_IYQdB8t/s1600/crazy-squidward-paper.jpg" height="193" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I guess Spongebob just really relates to this post.</td></tr>
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</li>
<li>I really shouldn't have taken that two hour nap.<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKHTdy4XhhJYtdffJ1ce8Q5zpOd_GdC47lIy49qEFrMxwLbbHmynS4uVVyTHmxBTrfOqE1-ytkswN85-OX89ap1SJU_n9OosE0Fxwu-K33O9WNMpFlMxCzEqFaGZKaun3aR4YUprOPhX8q/s1600/e3a0c4a557835e82c1c53f63d2b18a68.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKHTdy4XhhJYtdffJ1ce8Q5zpOd_GdC47lIy49qEFrMxwLbbHmynS4uVVyTHmxBTrfOqE1-ytkswN85-OX89ap1SJU_n9OosE0Fxwu-K33O9WNMpFlMxCzEqFaGZKaun3aR4YUprOPhX8q/s1600/e3a0c4a557835e82c1c53f63d2b18a68.jpg" height="215" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hey, the meme swore, not me.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</li>
<li>Did I really just write this sentence? "Once I saw both ways, the structure and idea that what I see is really what exists, was broken, I was able to understand the truth." I need to stop.</li>
</ul>
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In case you were wondering, I wrote two essays. The first was pretty good and the second was pretty bad. I finished at 11pm. </div>
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And no, I'm not writing this blog post to avoid my homework due tomorrow...</div>
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Kodahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14083750788732556169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3798246085022481086.post-56918717965368852002015-02-17T19:44:00.001-08:002015-02-17T19:44:16.177-08:00Find me on Match.com ;)Hey guys, how are you? I'm good. I have been gettin' back in the grind, going to school, working, studying, and exercising. Ok, so lately exercise means going to the gym, lifting for 10-15 minutes and then going on the elliptical for about 10 minutes then giving up and going home because I can't lift without getting sore and I hate ellipticals with a burning passion. The bad kind of passion. <br />
<br />But that is not the point of this post. As you can tell from my rigorous exercise schedule, I have hardly any spare time and when I <i>do</i> have free time I don't spend it blogging. (Usually it's spent eating cereal, taking naps, or other things important things that escape me at the moment.) So I am just going to post a homework assignment that I did for my Media in the Classroom class. We were supposed to use some form of social media and make a statement of some sort about it. <br />
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So I made a Matched.com profile. <br />
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And oh, was it fun. Way too much fun. I would just attach the link, but after a few days they shut my profile down. I think they realized I wasn't a real person. And not only was making my profile fun, but reading <i>other</i> people's profiles was even better. Oh my goodness. So freaking funny. I can't even...gahh words. So funny. But before you read this, I just want you to know that as ridiculous as my profile is, I got lots of likes and interested men lookin at my page. I'm THAT irresistible.<br />
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Also, the format of this page is dumb and the pictures are small, so click on them and then you can look at them without having to squint. Also also. I know this may be asking a lot, but every detail counts. Read everything because I probably put thought into everything. Also, just so you can understand notdesperate92 better, just know that she lives in Utah, is a BYU student, and is filling almost any horrible husband-hungry stereotype I could think of. That is all.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtsUIOe4Weo2-aSTRBcAlhjInyFXo85fdx-MM9T5tZkVkRyhKrwHgZDH-hWfIdDtptNZpLeKTCuXd_P_-8BTanAUBMv7vbGrWa42DV-uT2TppIy1oeWyJwU_zRF0U1WorR5RxErEHDkLO6/s1600/Screen+shot+2015-01-25+at+10.30.04+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtsUIOe4Weo2-aSTRBcAlhjInyFXo85fdx-MM9T5tZkVkRyhKrwHgZDH-hWfIdDtptNZpLeKTCuXd_P_-8BTanAUBMv7vbGrWa42DV-uT2TppIy1oeWyJwU_zRF0U1WorR5RxErEHDkLO6/s1600/Screen+shot+2015-01-25+at+10.30.04+PM.png" height="206" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGTR6pRrMzZWv3m628F9DFMZJj1XlhDHW-xs1iFLzg03OusKT42YrK-iWzpRMCG0Uk45iho6ztaq4d3Al2vYsPRkdz_s-thiioZVfIVUWftpPvLamXpQAO_dGzO9gM37rvi64pmBo2phLi/s1600/Screen+shot+2015-01-25+at+10.36.19+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGTR6pRrMzZWv3m628F9DFMZJj1XlhDHW-xs1iFLzg03OusKT42YrK-iWzpRMCG0Uk45iho6ztaq4d3Al2vYsPRkdz_s-thiioZVfIVUWftpPvLamXpQAO_dGzO9gM37rvi64pmBo2phLi/s1600/Screen+shot+2015-01-25+at+10.36.19+PM.png" height="315" width="400" /></a></div>
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So. Would you date me?Kodahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14083750788732556169noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3798246085022481086.post-3143478963448036962015-01-02T13:21:00.001-08:002017-02-27T06:59:16.640-08:00Words of Wisdom from my grandparents<div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I don't know if you've noticed, but I haven't written a proper blog post in quite some time. This is not because I suddenly stopped seeking attention through the Internet, but because I have been in Japan serving as a missionary for the past year and a half. <span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">I've been home for about a month and I've been meaning to write a post about how awesome and life changing my mission was, but it overwhelmed me too much. Which is why I haven't done anything about it. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So instead of writing an enlightening and spiritually uplifting post, I decided to copy and paste from a list I kept of the funny things that my dad's parents said when they visited over Christmas break. Enjoy.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">•Grandpa Oda: (pointing to a door) "Where does this lead to?" </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Dad: "It's a cupboard."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">•Me: "do you have a tissue?" </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Grandma: "Yeah I got some!" (Pulls out a gallon bag full of tissues)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">•Grandpa: "Everything I'm wearing is from Costco."</span></div>
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<div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961);">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">•Grandma Oda: "See those tombstones over there? They say "I told you I was sick."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">•Grandma: "I'll go buy the prune juice. It's a special kind; it's the strongest one." </span></div>
<div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961);">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Dad:"you can use my Metamucil if you want." </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Grandma: "It doesn't work fast enough."</span></div>
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<div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961);">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">•Me: "You got some white chocolate on your lip." </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Grandma: "Are you sure it's not snot?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961);">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">•Grandma: "That's why Sam (grandpa Oda) said he liked me compared to other Japanese girls; I had boobs." </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961);">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">•Grandma: "I don't know why, but every time Sam falls, I laugh."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">•(grandpa reading the obituary in the paper) "All these dead people look young. It must be the humidity."</span></div>
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<div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961);">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">•Grandma: "I always wondered why people get so ornery when they get old, but I guess that makes us glad when they die. If they were sweet till the end that'd be so sad."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">•Us: "Do you mind if we go to the mall?"</span></div>
<div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961);">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Grandma: "Yeah that's fine. Sam likes to sit and look at all the girls."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">•Grandpa: "Debbie, we don't need dinner tonight." </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Grandma: "Yeah Sam ate all the samples at Costco." </span></div>
<div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961);">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Grandpa: "Only the ones that looked good..."</span></div>
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<div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961);">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">•(Christmas Eve, eating Jerusalem dinner.) Grandpa: "is that pancake?" Us: "It's naan; Indian bread."</span></div>
<div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961);">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Grandpa:"what's that brown stuff?" </span></div>
<div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961);">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Us: "Dates." </span></div>
<div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961);">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Grandma: "are those beans?" </span></div>
<div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961);">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Us: "No, they're olives." </span></div>
<div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961);">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Grandpa: "This bread stuff (naan) is good. It's like tortillas." </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961);">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">•Us: "We don't get ready in the morning for Christmas, so don't worry about it." Grandma: "Well, I gotta draw my eyebrows." </span></div>
<div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961);">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Grandpa: "Yeah, and put in her teeth."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">•Us: "merry Christmas Grandpa! And happy birthday!" </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Grandma: "Oh yeah, it's your birthday..."</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Grandpa: "It's my birthday? Not tomorrow? It's Christmas? It's the 25th?" </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">•Grandpa: "what's that word for when you write on your phone?" </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Us: "Texting."</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
<div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961);">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">•Grandma: "When I win the lottery I'm gonna get a face lift."</span></div>
<div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961);">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961);">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">•Grandpa: "I've never had a drink in my life...hardly."</span></div>
<div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961);">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961);">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">•(Grandma talking about Grandpa): "don't believe anything he says. Especially about my driving."</span></div>
<div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961);">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961);">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">•Grandpa pointing to our tennis machine: "Is this a car wash?" </span></div>
<div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961);">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Me: "No it's for tennis." </span></div>
<div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961);">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Grandpa: "Oh, a pressure washer?"</span></div>
<div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961);">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961);">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">•Grandma giving a prayer: "...please bless grandma and grandpa that they can try to be productive and busy...in the name of Jesus Christ, amen." Grandpa: "Gee, that was so long, I almost fell asleep."</span></div>
<div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961);">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Grandma: "Yeah I know--I didn't know how to end it."</span></div>
<div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961);">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961);">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">•Grandma: "Well young kids don't like talking to us old people. We talk about doctors and pain and pills; they talk about dates and boys." </span></div>
<div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961);">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Grandpa: "I talk about old ladies. </span></div>
<div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961);">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Grandma: "Yeah, he dreams about those old ladies at Costco giving him samples."</span></div>
<div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961);">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961);">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">•(talking about the kingdoms of glory) Grandpa: "well I'm going to the celestial kingdom anyway..."</span></div>
</div>
<div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961);">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961);">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Me: "Grandma, I'm probably going to put stuff about you on the Internet..."</span></div>
<div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961);">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Grandma: "I don't care."</span></div>
<div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961);">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961);">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Hilarious, right? Needless to say, my Christmas break was filled with good old fashioned entertainment via my grandparents.</span></div>
<div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961);">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961);">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And here are some pictures I took of my grandparents. The majority being of them eating or sleeping.</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">
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Kodahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14083750788732556169noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3798246085022481086.post-30966255878816740102014-03-16T21:08:00.000-07:002014-03-16T21:08:28.193-07:00Update from Oda Shimai (she's 9 months in, 9 months to go!)<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: HelveticaNeue, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, 'Lucida Grande', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">Hello family and friends!</span><br />
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The sun is out and shining and it's really warm. I like the weather here. It's really nice.</div>
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As a follow up to my birthday, it was nice. Obviously I'm a missionary, so the day was like any other day, but I did go out to eat for dinner and ate some meat and an awesome strawberry parfait. Birthday cards have also been trickling in through our mail, but another sister currently has four of my cards because the mission home is sending MY cards to her because our last names are similar. I'd really like those letters soon, but it's probably not that sister's priority like it is for me. Patience. Oh, and the elders gave me one of those head massage things that looks like a big whisk. Best birthday present ever. Sometimes I just leave it on my head. And then take pictures. I swear I'm not as fat as I look in the picture I attached. That's what happens when you wear a flannel with a skirt...did I mention that sometimes I really don't like dressing up as a missionary? Also, the fact that I'm sitting at my desk in that picture is amazing. I'm not very good at studying at desks either. </div>
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I've mentioned this before, but there are quite a few old people in the Fukuroi Branch. But even though there are a lot of old people, they come in all sorts of shapes and personalities. One in particular is Totsuka Shimai. I don't know how old she is, but her daughter is probably around 50 and unmarried, so she lives with her. Anyway, last week we met with them to teach them about how to bring up our religion in everyday conversation. (We're also teaching from <i>Everyday Missionaries</i> or whatever it's called, but we haven't actually read it. Yamashita Kaicho just made thirteen different lessons we can teach from it and then members choose what they want to learn.) Anyway, we had them role play a situation where they could talk about the Word of Wisdom. The daughter was the cashier and Totsuka Shimai The Older (that's what we call her) was playing the part of herself. This is how it went down:</div>
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Totsuka Shimai as Cashier: "Oh, you bought a lot of herbal tea. Why?"</div>
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Totsuka Shimai The Older: "Because I like it."</div>
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Then Hodson Shimai said that was good, but the point of the mogi (role play) was to tie in the church or the Word of Wisdom. And then she asked if they could try again.</div>
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Cashier: "Why did you buy herbal tea instead of green tea?" (fyi no one would ask that, but it was a role play after all.)</div>
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Totsuka Shimai The Older: "Because I like it." </div>
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Yeah. Maybe the saying "you can't teach old dogs new tricks" is kind of true. She's funny. She also told us multiple times at church <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_196201434" style="border-bottom-color: rgb(204, 204, 204); border-bottom-style: dashed; border-bottom-width: 1px; position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">yesterday</span></span> that we looked like we gained weight. She might need some help with missionary work, but she's got honesty down!</div>
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This past week has been great. And filled with miracles. Not huge miracles, but lots of small ones that any missionary would be happy to receive. First of all, we got a referral last week from a Filipina who recently got baptized, and she wanted us to teach her sister. We've taught Erica three times and it's going really well. Last week while Hodson Shimai was on kokans (companion exchanges) with another sister she talked to a girl on the train and got her number. I then sent her a text and invited her to the game night we put on that week. And she actually came and brought her sister! Then we asked if we could meet with them again and they were all for it. So we met and had dinner with them <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_196201435" style="border-bottom-color: rgb(204, 204, 204); border-bottom-style: dashed; border-bottom-width: 1px; position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">on Friday</span></span> night. But that was after having <i>first</i> dinner with members, and then biking 21km in 40 minutes back to Fukuroi to meet them in time for <i>second</i> dinner. Sometimes missionaries eat like hobbits. Then the next day we were housing and met a Brazilian family that said they wanted to hear our message and gave us their number. A new student at Eikaiwa turned into an investigator and has a lot of potential, and a lady that we met on the road and exchanged numbers with finally called us back and set up a lesson with her an her friend for later this week. There's a good story for all these situations, but I don't have time to tell them all. Some are super spiritual and some are mostly just entertaining. I wish I could just dump my memories into this email and you could watch them. Actually that totally exists. In Harry Potter. </div>
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I am continually learning a lot by serving in a different area and with a different companion. And I actually get to work with a lot of different sisters and areas because we go on kokans so much. It's really fun. Right now we have three Filipina investigators, three Japanese, and one Brazilian investigator (and dropped a handful of Filipinos). Obviously we're working on finding more, but it's really interesting to be teaching people of all different nationalities. It's absolutely ridiculous how different it is to talk to a Filipino or Brazilian at their doorstep than a Nihonjin. Actually, Nihonjin just don't talk to us. But even though I'm serving in Japan and I'm teaching so many different types of people, it's the same message. We teach very differently to meet their needs and previous knowledge, but it's still the same message about the same gospel. Heavenly Father wants us to be happy and He wants us to become like Him. He gave us our bodies and families to progress in this life and hopefully return to live with Him. This life may be like a test; it may have it's trials and burdens, but through Jesus Christ and His gospel, we can overcome these things. And we really can be happy in this life. I'm happy and I hope you are happy! Kiki (our new Brazilian investigator) said that when she prays she doesn't really ask for things, she mostly just thanks the Lord for all her blessings. And she's not the first investigator I've heard say that. I'm so grateful that I can teach people, but that they can teach me as well.</div>
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Love you all!!</div>
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Oda Shimai</div>
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Kodahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14083750788732556169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3798246085022481086.post-2777927713113693802014-02-09T17:20:00.001-08:002014-02-09T17:20:27.061-08:00I'm leaving on a jet… train (Week 33)<br />
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I hope the title just got that song stuck in your head. You're welcome.<div>
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But yes, I am transferring to Fukuroi in Shizuoka prefecture. Which probably means nothing to you, but it really means that I'm transferring from the most northern zone to the farthest south I can get. Which also means it will be warmer!! I'm pretty excited about that. Also, my companion is super old and is on transfer 10!! Out of like 50 shimai, there like 5 that are above transfer 8. I never thought I'd get a companion more than two transfers ahead of me. <b>And</b>, we're opening our area. Apparently there are only like 20 members in our branch, so I'm fairly certain they've never had sister missionaries before. Which also means they'll be really excited for us to come ;) I'm excited, but I'm also pretty nervous. My new companion is pretty different from me, but I think I'll be fine with that. Opening is really the scary part because we both don't know anything about the area or the branch, and we'll start off with zero investigators. But I'm ready for the challenge! </div>
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And even though I will be leaving Kanazawa's dismal weather, I'm really going to miss it. I had to say goodbye to everyone at church <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_981418405" style="border-bottom-color: rgb(204, 204, 204); border-bottom-style: dashed; border-bottom-width: 1px; position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">yesterday</span></span> and I didn't like it one bit. Sometimes we get really jealous of state side missionaries because they can go visit their mission so much easier than we can. Who knows if I'll ever see these people I've grown to love so much again. I haven't had a break down yet, but I've teared up multiple times a day since transfer calls. I never realized how hard it is for missionaries to transfer, but it totally is! You put your whole heart and soul into your area, and then you just have to leave. My heart. It hurts.</div>
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So now that I got all my transfer blues out of the way, I can talk about 姉妹大会! That means Sisters Conference. I just thought I'd throw in some kanji to let you know I can actually read some things. Anyway it was so awesome to meet together with all the other shimai and finally get to talk to everyone. I've said it before, but I'm kind of banished up here in Kanazawa, and I haven't been able to see many of the other shimai in the mission. And we NEED to talk to each other. If you didn't know, missionaries' form of entertainment is eating, and talking about other missionaries and areas. So yeah, I got to do a lot of talking and it was awesome. We also learned how to give hand massages to our companion to relieve stress. Yeah, that's what we do at Sisters Conference. </div>
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Ha, but we also had training and learned a lot of good stuff. I really did learn a lot, but mostly what I learned was not from the training, but from what I observed. First, I'm gonna have to preface this with an explanation of how freaking hard Japanese is. The more I learn, the more I realize how little I know, and how ridiculously complex this language is. It's super hard. And no missionary leaves Japan speaking like a native, or even close to that. I could go on and on, but all you need to know is that it's a really difficult language, spoken and written. <i>So</i> as a missionary, I am extremely aware of this. And sometimes I get mad/envious of the missionaries in South America where they actually learn to speak the language well, and actually get baptisms. I was just overwhelmed with how hard those two things are in Japan. </div>
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But while I was at the conference, I watched a shimai (that's only one transfer ahead of me) translate to her Japanese bean. It might sound pathetic that I was so impressed that she was translating in Japanese, but that's kind of really hard. I was talking to Kawai Shimai about it afterward, and she said that she was actually translating the English into super super simple Japanese, but she did it <i>confidently</i>. That's when I started to do a lot of reflecting. Yes, Japanese is really hard, and yes, I'll probably never speak like a native, or understand everything I hear from a native, but that's ok. My purpose is to bring others to Christ, and I don't have to be a master of the language to do so. I just have to study hard, prepare hard, and then when the time comes to speak, I should do so confidently. The Spirit can work with my weak Japanese, but it can't work with me if I'm apologetic and focused on how bad my Japanese is. Since my time in the MTC my favorite scripture has been Ether <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_981418406" style="border-bottom-color: rgb(204, 204, 204); border-bottom-style: dashed; border-bottom-width: 1px; position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">12:27</span></span>: <span> </span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span>And if men come unto me I will show unto them their</span><span> </span><a href="http://www.lds.org/scriptures/bofm/ether/12?lang=eng#" rel="nofollow" style="color: #1155cc;" target="_blank"><span style="color: black;">weakness</span></a><span>. I </span><span> </span><a href="http://www.lds.org/scriptures/bofm/ether/12?lang=eng#" rel="nofollow" style="color: #1155cc;" target="_blank"><span style="color: black;">give</span></a><span> unto men weakness that they may be humble; and my </span><a href="http://www.lds.org/scriptures/bofm/ether/12?lang=eng#" rel="nofollow" style="color: #1155cc;" target="_blank"><span style="color: black;">grace</span></a><span> is sufficient for all men that </span><a href="http://www.lds.org/scriptures/bofm/ether/12?lang=eng#" rel="nofollow" style="color: #1155cc;" target="_blank"><span style="color: black;">humble</span></a><span> themselves before me; for if they humble themselves before me, and have faith in me, then will I make </span><a href="http://www.lds.org/scriptures/bofm/ether/12?lang=eng#" rel="nofollow" style="color: #1155cc;" target="_blank"><span style="color: black;">weak</span></a><span> things become strong unto them. </span></span></div>
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I've read this verse countless times. I've shared it countless times, but I didn't really grasp the full meaning of humility. I thought my weakness was Japanese, and I thought I was humble because I was very aware of how bad it was. But that's not humility. I was talking about this scripture with Kawai Shimai during companionship study and she said that being humble is actually being confident in the right person, and that person is God. My weakness wasn't Japanese, my weakness was the fact that I didn't have enough confidence or faith in my Heavenly Father. Since then I've tried my best to speak confidently. And I've been surprised to find that I can speak much more smoothly and comfortably because I'm not focusing on how hard it is to formulate sentences or ideas in Japanese. It's been a great lesson for me, and I'm very grateful I had that little experience at Sisters Conference to finally realize that.</div>
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I do believe that I can speak Japanese and I do believe that we can have baptisms in Japan. I know that Heavenly Father loves all His children, and that's why we're serving in a non-Christian country. They might not know Christ right now, but everyone was Christian before this life. We lived with God and Jesus Christ and we all wanted to come to this earth to gain bodies and return to live with Heavenly Father. I'm so grateful that I was born into a family that knows of this plan. I don't know why I was so lucky to have this knowledge my whole life, but I think the people of Japan deserve to know just as much as anyone else. </div>
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Pictures: It snowed a lot this week, so we took a lot of snow pictures. I also attached a picture with Yamaguchi Shimai, our dendo coach. I think she's 30, but she totally looks like she could be another missionary. Love that woman! She is also really good at singing, so we sang "How Great Thou Art" a capella in Sacrament Meeting. Yamaguchi Shimai sang the tenor part an octave higher and it sounded so awesome. Music really does bring the Spirit and I think everyone felt it there. </div>
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Love you all!</div>
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Oda Shimai</div>
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Kodahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14083750788732556169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3798246085022481086.post-13861657027555975852013-11-17T18:02:00.001-08:002013-11-17T18:02:21.448-08:00Miracles<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;">Ohayou Gozaimasu!</span><br />
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Today is officially the first day of my third transfer. Which also means I am no longer a Bean. Which also means I don't have a really good excuse for my weak Japanese. But that's ok. Looking back at my first two transfers, both Hammon Shimai and I have come a long way.</div>
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My good friend Jenny, who I've mentioned a fair number of times in these emails, said in one of her letters that there have been miracles in my mission. When she said that I was kind of surprised because I didn't know what those miracles were. We haven't had any baptisms, we don't have any of those crazy stories about conversions, or followed<var></var> a prompting to talk to someone that was searching for answers. Those are the kind of things I saw as miracles, and in my eyes, we hadn't had any. But then I started to think, and I really have experienced miracles in these last two transfers. I'm going to be honest, that first transfer was really rough. Especially those first two weeks. We had no direction, we didn't speak Japanese, and we had basically no one to teach. Hammon Shimai's trainer had really good Japanese, but she wasn't very good at including Hammon Shimai or giving her opportunities to grow. So when Hammon Shimai became a trainer as a third transfer missionary, she hadn't had communication with the ward members, investigators or really anyone. She had to take the lead with a brand new missionary, when she never had the opportunity beforehand. And to top it all off, her Japanese might have been weaker than mine. I was kind of mad that I was put in that situation because I knew <i>I</i> wasn't going to know anything as a Bean, but I had always assumed my <i>trainer </i>would. I even got kind of annoyed with the age change for missionaries, because if that hadn't have happened, I would have still gone on a mission at the same time, but I would have had a seasoned trainer who actually spoke Japanese. I feel kind of bad for thinking that now, because even though my situation wasn't ideal, it must have been so much more stressful for Hammon Shimai. </div>
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So when it comes to miracles, I'd say these last two transfers have been one big miracle. We made it through 12 weeks of not knowing anything. We talked to hundreds of people on the streets when we really didn't speak Japanese. We knocked on hundreds of doors when we had no idea what they'd say to us in response. We even found a couple investigators, and when I think about them, the fact that they were willing to hear our message was a miracle. Even though we were completely lost, we somehow managed to be effective missionaries. Maybe the numbers don't show it, but I know we worked hard, and I know the Lord knows that. I've grown these last two transfers, but I'm mostly proud of how Hammon Shimai has grown. She is much more sure of herself now. Her Japanese is really starting to improve and she talks to people. She has become less serious, and lets herself be her real light-hearted self. But I'm pretty sure I'm most proud of the food she ate this transfer with me as her companion;) I'd like to take credit for the fact that she now eats onigiri a few times a week, tried raw egg and rice voluntarily because she saw me eat it once, her favorite food is now inarizushi because I introduced her to it, she eats sushi with raw fish like a boss, and she loves mochi with onko inside because I always bought it on P-days. Yeah, I'll take credit for that. She's very willing to try new things, and I think I'm really going to struggle if I ever get a picky companion. </div>
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Speaking of new companions, I'm getting one <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_1097906555" style="border-bottom-color: rgb(204, 204, 204); border-bottom-style: dashed; border-bottom-width: 1px; position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">tomorrow</span></span>. Hammon Shimai is transferring out, and Kawaii Shimai is taking her place. Kawaii actually means "cute" in Japanese, so I have high expectations of that sister. Like me, she has a Japanese last name, but she's American and doesn't speak Japanese as her first language. She's also 1/4 Japanese, so she looks completely white. Now I know what my kids will look like if I marry a white guy. Anyway, I'm excited and hopefully it'll be an awesome transfer. She came in the same group as Hammon Shimai, so she's just a 5th transfer missionary as well, but 5th transfer sounds oh so much more comforting than a 3rd transfer companion. Hopefully she's not let down that she gets <i>me</i> as her companion<img src="https://mail.google.com/mail/u/0/?ui=2&ik=1e10dbbf38&view=att&th=14268e3632081240&attid=0.0.1.1&disp=emb&zw&atsh=1" style="margin: 0px 0.2ex; vertical-align: middle;" /></div>
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I already talked a little about food in this email, but it never hurts to talk about food a little more. So far, I've liked basically everything I've tried in Japan. Nothing has been too weird, and I mostly just worry about what I'm going to do in America when I can't get really good ramen or udon on any block. So yeah, I like Japanese food. Except I tried nato for the first time and that was sufficiently nasty. It's infamous for being disgusting to foreigners...and I was no exception. It's like beans covered in really sticky mucus. Then later that night we visited some members in the ward and Iida Shimai served us warm milk. That was probably the second grossest thing I've had in Japan. Surprising, right? People don't even drink milk here, and yet she gave us this mug filled with warm milk. Probably because we're Americans. Too bad I'm an American that loathes milk. I'm fairly certain it's been over 10 years since I've swallowed more than one gulp of milk. And I'm really hoping that it'll be another 10 years till I have to do it again. But I drank it, so please be proud of me. Oh, and a couple of days ago we were visiting a less active sister and she sent us out with these sandwiches. Except they really weren't really sandwiches because they were a piece of bread with halfway melted cheese, bacon, cabbage, probably Japanese mayo, and bananas on top. I'm am so grateful we didn't have to eat them in front of her (or even try them later). The elders wouldn't even take them. </div>
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And for pictures. Aren't our investigators adorable? The first picture is with Manami San and our finished products that we made at the pottery place. Gahh, I can't get over the fact of how stinking cute she is. We all agreed that after our missions she's going to visit us in Utah. And hopefully by then she'll be a member ;) The other picture is with Kyoko San and her son Shoma. She's actually the same age as me and married, which is pretty rare in Japan. She's the investigator that's been taking lessons for a long time, but isn't quite willing to get baptized. Yet. And the other picture is of Hammon Shimai laying on our "couch" warming her feat with the space heater. Central heating. Japan really should think about getting it.</div>
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Love you and thanks for all the prayers. It really does mean a lot:)</div>
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Love,</div>
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Kodahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14083750788732556169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3798246085022481086.post-28988990920255835292013-10-27T19:46:00.000-07:002013-10-27T19:46:06.963-07:00Of pears, companions, and ramen<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;">Ohayou Gozaimasu!</span><br />
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We had some computer problems this morning, so I have very limited time to write this email. So it probably won't be ridiculously long like they tend to be. Which could also be a good thing...</div>
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So Japan suddenly decided that it was fall, and now it's pretty cold around here. I get to wear tights, and it makes me happy. I'm also kind of scared for winter now that I'm getting a taste of what it will be like riding our bikes around for hours in the cold. We officially turned the heat on for our apartment's toilet. Japan might not have central heating or cooling, but their toilet seats are heated. Which is pretty awesome. Did I talk about toilets last week, too? Hammon Shimai and I did a little clothes shopping last P-day, so I got a few longer skirts and winter clothing. And for the record, I kind of love shopping here. A lot. Even if I am a size large in Japan...</div>
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This week was another good one. Nothing happened that sent me through an emotional spiral, but nothing spectacular either. We <i>did</i> eat lunch with Manami San (our investigator from Eikaiwa) last week, and that was the first time we had seen her in about a month. We're not sure if she wants to take the lessons again, but at least we have contact with her again. She invited us to go make pottery or something with her tomorrow, so we get to see her again! Hopefully we can bring up the Gospel...</div>
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We also had lunch at Kakuda Shimai's house last week. She's a less active member who is totally nuts (in a good way) and is super funny and talkative. She also loves American things such as American food, and swear words. The Japanese language doesn't have swear words, so they really don't understand how strong the "f" word is. Haha, it was a bit of a surprise to read that in one of her texts. So if you haven't already guessed, the picture of the crazy lady with the whipped cream can in hand is Kakuda Shimai. She really is a hoot.</div>
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Lily mentioned that I don't really talk about my companion very much. Don't worry, we get along just fine, I guess I just have a lot of other things to talk about. So I'll talk about her a little bit now. </div>
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Hammon Shimai is blonde, 19, and from American Fork. She has a boyfriend currently serving in Norway, and I'm fairly certain she'll wait for him those 6 months after she gets home from her mission, and then they'll get married. Hammon Shimai took classes at UVU for one semester and commuted from home, so until her mission she had never lived away from home. In a lot of ways, she's super young and inexperienced, but I truly don't think that has set her back as a missionary.</div>
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I thought that I'd have to learn humility by being trained by someone so much younger than me, but I've really learned humility from her. I'm sure all of you know, but I kind of like to talk a lot. And I kind of like to be in control of everything. Not like a dictator or anything, but this whole senior and junior companion thing isn't my favorite. But Hammon Shimai has been so good about letting me kind of take charge in things. She wasn't as lucky as me to take Japanese before her mission, so she kind of struggles with the language. (Which is to be expected from a 3rd transfer trainer.) I try to recognize the fact that she's my trainer, and I'm grateful for all the things she's teaching me, but I also tend to do more of the talking than her. If I were to have a trainer that spoke Japanese fluently, I would've never had the opportunity to speak and converse with people as much as I do with Hammon Shimai. Sometimes (most times) it's hard to be in a companionship with two very new missionaries, but I'm also really grateful for it. I'm not afraid to state my opinion on things, or suggest what we should teach, where we should go, and so on. I'm probably really annoying, now that I think about it, but Hammon Shimai is really good about letting me say and do all the things I want. She had a trainer who was fluent in Japanese, but she felt so worthless in their companionship, and I'm so glad I don't have to feel that way. So basically, I like Hammon Shimai. She's much more shy, and pretty different than me, but we get along well, and we respect each other. We're here for the same purpose, and that is to invite others to come unto Christ. So that's what we're doing. That's all that really matters, right?</div>
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I think I attached a picture of Hammon Shimai, me, and Uriya with our bowls of ramen at a ramen festival we went to last P-day. Japanese people love their ramen, which is why they filled a whole stadium-like building of people waiting in lines to get their ramen. It was crazy. I also attached a picture of me and a nashi, which is a Japanese pear. They basically taste like a pear with the texture of an apple. And they're SO good. They're about to go out of season, and there was only that one huge nashi left in the grocery store, so I bought it. For $2.50. I love them, and it might have been my last chance to eat one. So I bought it. </div>
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I love you all. Keep being awesome and stuff. The gospel is great, and continues to bless people's lives. I hope it is blessing yours. </div>
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Oda Shimai<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Kodahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14083750788732556169noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3798246085022481086.post-9684066254639833112013-10-13T18:47:00.001-07:002013-10-13T18:47:13.554-07:00First letter from Japan! (September 3, 2013)<br />
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<span style="color: blue;">My apologies. I (Kristen's younger sister, Lily) am a terrible social media manager and have not posted much of anything Kristen's been sending in her weekly emails home. This is from over a month ago, but I thought her first letter from Japan (after 9 weeks in the Missionary Training Center in Provo, UT) was a good place to start. Look on Kristen's facebook for pictures!</span></div>
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Konnichiwa!<div>
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Yes, I am a Bean Chan. Instead of calling the brand spankin` new missionaries greenies, in Japan they call them beans. I really don`t know why. Perhaps some beans are green? And Chan is a title the Japanese used for children or something of that nature. I don`t really know, that`s just what I assume from hearing it. So for the next 12 weeks just call me Bean Chan :)</div>
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First of all, I`m using a Japanese keyboard, so it`s a little different and I`m trying my best.</div>
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I have a lot to talk about, so I`m just going to try and go in chronological order so I don`t miss anything important. First off, Japanese people are very nice. When I got off the airplane I didn`t realize I was going through customs because my one experience with going through customs in Russia was so different. And when I say different, I mean scary. But that`s another story. So yeah, they were all so friendly and all the sudden I was through customs and I was meeting President and Sister Yamashita. They`re really great, and their English is really good. When Japanese people say their English isn`t good, it actually means that they can speak it 10 times better than we can speak Japanese. And when they say our Japanese is good, it really means "Your Japanese isn`t good, but you`re cute for trying." At least that`s what I think :)</div>
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We stayed in the mission home that night and I crashed hard. The next morning we had some training and then got to meet our trainers. I was paired up with Hammon Shimai who is 19 years old and from American Fork, UT. And just like <b>all</b> the sister trainers but one, she just finished her own training, and became a trainer right after being a bean herself. Isn`t that crazy? I`m sure it must be super scary to train someone when you`re still considered a new missionary. She`s doing a great job though, and I trust her even though we both don`t know Japanese. </div>
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Before I left on my mission, my dear friend Sister Jenny Ansted (serving in Italy), gave me some awesome advice. She told me that even though she was a greenie, she didn`t use that as an excuse to let her trainer do all the work. She pushed herself even when she was uncomfortable. Or something along those lines; I can`t remember the exact details. Anyway, I really took those words to heart and decided before I got here that I wouldn`t use being a bean as an excuse. Well, I`m glad that I made that decision before I got here, because that`s not really an option. Hammon Shimai is doing great, but she`s only been here for three months and no one learns Japanese that fast. We`re basically on the same level of speaking ability, so I have to speak just as much as her to people when we tract and teach. It`s definitely scary to knock on a door and try to share a message with a stranger when neither of us can hold a conversation. I really have to practice what I preached in that last email. I have to have more faith than fear, or we`d get absolutely nothing done considering both of us don`t understand the majority of what comes out of their mouths. We`re not in the ideal situation, but I know that the Lord won`t let us fail. We don`t have a companion that we can rely on to do all the talking or translating, so it`s all up to us to open our mouths. I think we`re going to grow a lot faster because we don`t have any crutch whatsoever to lean on. Last night I was joking that out of anyone we deserve the gift of tongues the most. Well, I kind of wasn`t joking at the same time :)</div>
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Yesterday was Fast Sunday so I bore my testimony along with the FIVE other missionaries in our ward. There are two elders who are Japanese (and super funny) and four sisters. The four of us live together, and only Sister Breck can actually speak Japanese. Sister Avarell is her bean and she`s been out here for 6 weeks. Anyway, I got to meet a lot of people in the ward and they all got super excited when they found out I was half Japanese. People don`t shake hands very often in Japan, but apparently that doesn`t apply in church because<i>everyone</i> shook each others` hands. But really, I have never shook so many hands in my life. And it was in Japan of all places. </div>
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I really want to build a good relationship with the ward members for obvious reasons, but also because they are our best allies. We really need their help finding investigators, but Hammon Shimai and I really need them to help teach. At this point we can teach a very simple lesson in Japanese, but we have no idea what the investigators say back. Basically, we need members present in our lessons if we want it to be effective. We don`t have many investigators right now because we had to split them up between the four of us because they were a trio before I arrived. Anyway, after church we taught my first real lesson to Ito San. Ito San is a sweet old lady who lives in an awesome traditional Japanese style home and is extremely Buddhist. She also lives far away, so one of the sisters in our ward drove us there and basically translated for Ito San the entire lesson. We were super grateful Hirose Shimai was there to help. We were planning on teaching Ito San about the Plan of Salvation, but didn`t get very far. Ito San told us that she believed that her religion was the best and told us numerous times that she wasn`t going to convert. That`s when we had to decide what we were going to do. It`s hard to know when you should drop an investigator, because if she wasn`t willing to keep our commitments, etc., we weren`t fulfilling our purpose as missionaries. We told her that we were happy to continue teaching her about our religion, but our purpose was to bring others to Christ. She said multiple times that she`s too old now to change religions, but if she were younger she probably would. I thought that was kind of weird, but I just said that our faith is for everyone of every age. Haha, I don`t really know where this will go, but she said that she really liked meeting with us and isn`t sure why she let us teach her because she never lets other proselyters (sp?) in. We took that as a good sign, so we`ll probably try to teach her again. </div>
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Japan is a great place. I`m constantly entertained just by looking around as I ride my bike. The air is extremely humid, and it`s always pouring rain. The cars look like little boxes and are in pristine shape. The cicadas are ridiculously loud. There are old people <i>everywhere</i> either walking or riding their bikes, and every single kid is adorable. The roads are smaller, the people are smaller, the doorways are smaller, the cars are smaller, the yards are smaller (or non existent), the seats are smaller and for the first time in my life my feet can touch the floor. Basically, everything is smaller except their rice cookers. The elderly people may be small and thin, but the babies are chubby and dense; both are freaking cute. </div>
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Also, does Lily start college today?? Or is it still Sunday in the states? Either way, good luck! I`m thinking of you :)</div>
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So I`ve only taken like five pictures since I`ve been in Japan. I don`t know why, but next week I`ll try to take some picture where you can actually tell that I`m in a different country. So if you were wondering what those rain jumpers look like, I`m wearing one in one of those pictures. We just bunch up our skirt at the top and ride our bikes in the rain while looking super attractive. We got stuck in the rain the other day without our kappa and that`s why we`re drenched in the other picture. You can also see my obnoxiously bright orange men`s bike that I bought here. Nothing says "quiet dignity" like a sister wearing a kappa with an ugly white helmet riding a bright orange mountain bike! Then we took a picture with Ito San in her awesome house, but you can`t see the background because the stupid flash was on. It`s really not a flattering picture, but at least now you have a face for Ito San.</div>
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That`s all I can write for now, but I love you all! I can`t speak Japanese, but I still love it here and the people. The church is true and is for everyone. I`ve never had to exercise so much faith in my Heavenly Father, but I know he`s looking over us. The main thing I learned while in the MTC is that the Spirit is the best teacher, and I really have found comfort in that because our Japanese speaking abilities are not good enough, nor will they ever be. I hope all of you are doing well in the good old U S of A!</div>
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Love you!</div>
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Sister Oda</div>
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