Ring my doorbell! HIS doorbell will give you a rash.

"Next time I tell you I want to make everyone their Christmas presents, just grab me by the scruff of my neck, rub my nose in the dirt, and say 'NO'."

--Text from me to Elly

Nat-chan

Stitch-Witch

Mrs. David Bowie

To be continued...

Bailey

Earlier today I had a voice-mail on my cell phone. It was a few seconds of frantic barking followed by my mother's voice saying "You're going to be alright" over and over again before it petered off into tears. The message ended there. I immediately called my mom and found out that a car had hit our dog, Bailey.

Bailey

She survived the impact but her broken rib punctured her lung. As of tonight, she's at the vet's in a little oxygen-infused enclosure, wrapped up in bandages and drugged out of her mind (though she can still find it in her to try to crawl through the petting hole and let out a constant stream of pained yips). The vet says that there isn't anything they can do except wait and see if she pulls through (about a 50/50 chance).

As I was driving back to my apartment, I kept thinking: Alright, Life. I get it. You are so much bigger and meaner than I could ever hope to be. Now please stop shitting on my face.

(I apologize for the language. My inner-self and I are still working on the cussing issue).

My little sister said, "God, if you let Bailey live, I will never do anything wrong again."

My mom said, "Good things never happen to good people."

The thing is, I don't believe that's how it works. As elementary as it is, life only consists of two types of circumstances: the ones you can control and the ones you can't. Being a good person has to be a reward on its own because it is no guarantee of anything good coming your way. I believe in blessings and I believe that our Heavenly Father wants us to be happy, but between teaching us and letting us be blissfully stagnant, we've already chosen to learn. You can control your actions and do the things that will lead to the kinds of consequences that you desire. But there is still a realm of things that may fall on you for the better or worse and where what you deserve is supplanted by what you are given.

And if that's really part of Heavenly Father's Plan, then that has to be okay. Maybe the real blessing is that sometimes, even rarely, we do get to choose, that we aren't stuck with just being acted upon, that we get even an iota of influence in the dealings in our lives. That even when things are spiraling out of control, I can look around and say "This is how this happened. A affected B and C happened and now I'm going to do D". Even if I don't understand the "why" behind it all, I have the faith to say "Okay. I'll take it and I'll work with it".

I don't need things to be better. I just need them to go forward.

"Our God will deliver us from ridicule and persecution, but if not. . . . Our God will deliver us from sickness and disease, but if not . . . . He will deliver us from loneliness, depression, or fear, but if not. . . . Our God will deliver us from threats, accusations, and insecurity, but if not. . . . He will deliver us from death or impairment of loved ones, but if not, . . . we will trust in the Lord.

Our God will see that we receive justice and fairness, but if not. . . . He will make sure that we are loved and recognized, but if not. . . . We will receive a perfect companion and righteous and obedient children, but if not, . . . we will have faith in the Lord Jesus Christ, knowing that if we do all we can do, we will, in His time and in His way, be delivered and receive all that He has."
-Elder Dennis E. Simmons of the Quorum of the Seventy

Update: Bailey is fine! She's all bandaged up and is getting spoiled silly :)

Bullets Dodged: 2

"Wanna buy a magazine? ...Wanna have sex?"

I love men. I do.

I love the way they smell, and when their hair is just long enough to really run my fingers through, and how they take charge, and get flustered, that no matter what size they are they are perfect for cuddling with. I love that they will never understand my mismatched fuzzy socks, how they want to fix things, how rough their hands are, and their three day face stubble. I love their deep voices and the way they act more than they talk.

I'm grateful for the amazing men in my life that show me what a real man looks like.

Because we are getting lazy. Men and women alike have cultivated so much liberty that it has grown wild, trampling over decency and respect, and breeding like bunnies to create the social evolutionary beasts of entitlement and self-importance.

This particular race of bunny is called "Youtube Comments"

It appears that some of these rabid bunnies have infected a few of the men in my area. I present to you: Bullet #2.

The salesman came into my life via my roommate, who let him in for a "glass of water" (always a ruse girls. Always.). Thinking he was a friend of hers, I wasn't weirded out when he called me beautiful and we started talking. He played the "I'm in Utah and I know what you want to hear" card and said he was talking to missionaries and wanted to be baptized. We made a few jokes, and he got down to business. He mentioned that he was selling subscriptions to magazine, my inner eyes rolled, but I let him do his thing. Then I told him no.

Stage 1: Boy. Loses. His. Mind.

He started talking about how much money he would make if we said yes, then how the program really worked, then how the college kids around here are (expletives). He started swearing and my roommate left to go back to her room.

Stage 2: Sanity travels southward.

As soon as she left, Salesman started talking again about how beautiful I am. How pretty my lips are. How much he wants to kiss them. Do I drink alcohol? Do I like black men? Have I ever been with a black man before? Am I a virgin? Can he have my number? No, really, I'm a virgin? Can he change that?

Stage 3: Boy gets booted out of the apartment.

And thank goodness he left fairly easy because I was two seconds from calling Mexules over to come help me.

Is there a lesson here? Sure. Being a salesman and asking a potential buyer for sex makes you a prostitute.