I am very glad that my blog is being read. It's nice to know that people find me as interesting (at least occasionally) as I'd like to think I am. Yay me. I'm also glad that the people that read my blog aren't just the ones related to me. Hi Mom. It makes me very happy when people find their way over here, and I especially enjoy comments.

If you've read my blog at all, you've probably noticed at least a few things about me; 1) God and my relationship with Him is a very important part of my life, 2) I'm a fat kid, 3) I enjoy self-deprecating humor, 4) I really love writing things in list form, and 5) I'm not your stereotypical Bible beater - I occasionally curse, drink moderately, watch rated R movies, and didn't get married right out of Christian college to a youth pastor. Not that that's all Christians, but stereotypes are stereotypes for a reason, right?

A few posts back I got some comments from two people "asking" me to explain why it is I can rationalize cursing and being a Christian. I attempted to answer the first question, which I thought was very fair, honestly and calmly, which resulted in me getting a bunch of verses thrown at me and some more questions. I've thought about it, calmed down a little (there's a reason Italians like my Dad always sit with their back to the wall -they don't like getting attacked), and feel ready to respond.

Like I said in my first response, I agree whole-heartily, 100% with every single scripture that talks about taming the tongue, not using coarse language, not speaking maliciously, etc (if you want to see those verses they are in the comments section the for "What's Next" post here.) I also am part of the Christian camp that believes the Bible is the inherent word of God and should be followed as much as possible (I wear clothing with different threads and don't put duct tape over my mouth in church.) What I had previously said, which was not responded to at all in the five comments that followed, was that I do not believe in those verses the Bible was speaking of cursing at all. In speaking of "language" it was not referencing certain words that common culture (NOT God or the Bible itself) have deemed "innapropiate." If so it would have listed those words explicitly. To say that it would not due to cultural/language difference is to refute the fact that we follow scripture for other areas, regardless of the fact the book was written in another culture/language thousands of years ago.

Yes, the tongue is a dangerous, powerful weapon, for sure, but not because God is threatened or endangered by four letter words, but because with just a few utterances we have the power to destroy relationships and permanently cause harm to others. To say that the reason Peter cried when he "cursed" Jesus before his persecution was due to guilt over saying a "bad word" is absolutley ridiculous. Peter wept because he denounced his Savior! It was the action, his heart, his motives, not his words. It was what the words meant, did, showed of his heart.

While it angers and hurts me to have my faith publicly attacked by people who don't even know me or anything about my spiritual journey, I know that other people's opinions are valid. The world would suck if we were all the same. However, one of the things that frustrates me the most with so many Christians is how easily they attack one another for small, tiny infractions that have no weight in the light of eternity. There is a reason that Christ told the Pharisees not to point out the speck in a brothers eye before removing the log in their own. While I have log-eye all the time, I know that if I spend all my time, energy, and passion pointing out fault in others, what I'm doing is causing discourse rather than unity, and wasting precious time tearing others down when I could be building them up, or better yet, serving.

Finally, I'll say this. I love the Lord, with all of my heart. It hurts that I have to even defend that just because I've said shit a few times, but I do. Part of my loving the Lord was embracing His plan for me, which I've always known, but just recently accepted, is very different than most people's. I am unique. I am not like most other people, Christians included. God knew this when He created me, and created me this way for a purpose. I truly believe that purpose is to reach those people who would not normally want anything to do with Christ. People who have the idea that all Christians are judgmental, out of touch, preachy, boring, holier-than-thou hypocrites. People who have been hurt by the church, or more truthfully, hurt by Christians. I know these people, I love these people, I understand these people. And yes, occasionally when I talk to them I might say "shit". Or "damn", "hell", "ass", and OK, I'm just having fun now, but you get the point. Do I think that me doing this shows a "lack of submission and faith?" Hell no. I was created for my purpose, just as other people were created for theirs. Unless what I am doing goes directly against scripture, which I have repeatedly and clearly now stated I do not believe it does, then I will continue to reach others in ways that God allows. Christ was controversial. Life is messy. God desires all people to have a relationship with Him, even the ones who would not understand and be affected by someone who thinks it's a mortal sin to say, "ass."

And you know what the best part is? Scripture gives me the freedom to do this, because as Paul said, I will be all things to all people, in order to reach them (1 Corinthians 9:19.) If that is something you don't understand, or are offended by I am sorry. I am not going to change though, or alter my course so as not to offend. I truly hope you'll continue to read my blog and enjoy it, but if it causes you that much offense, I'm sure you can find another, more conservative one you'd enjoy. That's what's great about blogs, there are a ton! Honestly though, I hope this explains where I'm coming from, why my salvation's is not in danger, what I feel is not just an encouragement, but a justification from scripture for my "language", and why I felt the need to respond.

At the end of the day, when I'm looking at my life, my friends, and my heart, it makes me feel good that so many "non-Christians" are my close friends, and are drawn to me. It shows me that what I am doing is right, and God is using me. I learned a long time ago that all the holiness in the world is great, but if you're surrounded by people just like you in a Christian bubble, who are you reaching?

Hope that answers the questions.

I love sleep. There is only one thing I love more than sleep, and that's eating, and if there was a way I could combine the two I totally would (incidentally that's why I'm team Jacob. Who wants to be a Twilight vampire that perpetually attends high school and stare creepily at teenagers?) That's why last night was so horribly, and in retrospect, hilariously, frustrating.

After a great night that involved cooking yummy lasagna, catching up on some e-mails, writing for a few hours, and talking with my boyfriend, I settled in at around 9:30 to get some sleep. Tuesdays and Thursdays are when I swim, so I'm up at 5:15, and by 8 or 9 can't wait to get into my very soft, very warm, very lovely bed. Just as I was about to start dreaming about what to wear when I take my book tour on Oprah, I heard it.

*Beep

Nope, didn't happen, just go back to sleep.

*Beep

Maybe it will stop.

*Beep *Beep

Maybe it will stop now.

*Beep *Beep *Beep

Ok, now you're just messing with me.

See, Friday after Thanksgiving I had had lofty plans. I would wake up, jog, run errands, write, clean the house, and otherwise be productive. I ended up staying on the couch in sweat pants watching seven, yes that's right, seven, episodes of Criminal Minds. Damn holiday marathons. Since it was from 8am-3pm and perfectly bright outside, I wasn't too freaked out, I could separate reality from television, where every white dude was either a murdering rapist or a brooding FBI agent who caught murdering rapists. However, once nighttime came, all those evil images came back and I was convinced I was going to be the people from the opening of the show (the ones killed) and not the ones from the middle of the show (the ones that get saved.) That's when I first heard it.

*Beep

oh no! What is that!

*Beep *Beep

It's the murdering rapists and they have some kind of beeping weapon!

*Beep

Why am I liberal and don't believe in guns?! Why?!

*Beep *Beep

Oh wait, maybe it's the smoke detector.

So I ventured out to find the smoke detector, which I had never noticed before, stood on a chair, took the battery out, and went back to bed. Thankfully, I wasn't murdered. That's why last night I was so surprised to hear the beeping again. Apparently, there are THREE smoke detectors in my house. Who knew? After blearily looking around I found that this one was right.outside.my.bedroom.door and unfortunately not on the wall like the one I had removed from Friday night, but on the ceiling.

I had a dilemma. My roommate was not home so I couldn't ask for her help. My options were 1) try to go back to sleep, 2) Try to find a ladder, at ten o'clock at night, that would reach the ceiling, or 3) stupidly and dangerously build a circus like stacked contraption that had, collapsed would have most likely resulted in my death. Guess which one I chose??

Looking back, stacking a two foot stool on top of a dining room chair propped against a wall, bracing myself in the corners and holding onto the tops of the door frame was not the brightest idea. But I took a deep breath, did it, and hurriedly took the battery out without falling. Hooray. I moved the chair I had used to step onto the stool on top of the chair. Put the stool back under the computer desk, put the dining room chair back, and got back in bed.

*Beep

Oh come on!!

I got out of bed, proceeded to re-stack the chair, stool, chair to brace myself on, and this time unhooked the smoke detector from the ceiling. At this point I'm putting all, oh, 120 lbs of me on a stool, on top of a chair, over a hard wood floor, in an empty house, while both my hands are over my head, messing with different colored copper wires. I would have won a really pretty Darwin award I'm sure. Finally, miraculously, I get it unhooked, and get down off my contraption.

*Beep

No joke. Without batteries, without it being connected to anything, it STILL BEEPED. So I did what any rational person who'd just narrowly escaped an embarrassing death would do. I put it in a sealed Tupperware container under the sink in the kitchen and went back to bed.

Hopefully my roommate wasn't planning on bringing leftovers for lunch.

I have been meeting with one of my friends, who has a background in nutrition, for the past 5 weeks or so. She's been helping me work out some of my issues with food, emotional and all that, and has had me write down everything I've eaten for the past month. I've realized some things. 1) I totally don't eat as healthy as I thought I did, 2) I eat way more than I thought I did, and 3) There's not some horrible curse that I have which results in me not losing weight despite working out four times a week, it's that I eat too much. Simple.

However.

Let's take one thing for example that I have realized I eat too much of and need to cut out of my diet: candy. I cannot tell you the last time I bought a candy bar. I'm thinking months, if not longer. If you don't count road trips or the movies (peanut M&Ms) I probably haven't purchased candy for my own consumption but a few times over many months. Yet, I seem to eat candy all the freaking time. How can this be? Well, for one, I work at an insurance company full of fatty fattertons who always have candy out. It's everywhere. Maybe there's something psychological about being a rat in a maze and wanting cheese, but winding through the cubicle hallways, seeing that bowl of Hershey bars makes me all kinds of happy.

That's just the anonymous people, let's talk now about my personal co-workers. People are creatures of habit, and unfortunately, when you've worked somewhere for over 2 years and for 99% of that you've wolfed down candy like Michael Jackson swallowed pills (too soon?) people remember. Without fail, whenever I'm having a day where I walk in, resolved, vowing to not eat any candy whatsoever, my co-worker(s) will have a brand new bag of some kind of chocolate flavored crack sitting on their desk, offering me some. Saying, "no" is useless. "Why not? You deserve it!", "Just save it for later,", or "Oh come on, just have one piece, it won't hurt."

One piece? One piece!? What am I, a model? There is no one piece of candy with me. There is a [insert alcohol/drug/Eddie Murphy in a fat suit movie reference here] sized binge that results in me feeling horrible about myself and my trashcan looking like Willy Wonkas brain. One, pssh please.

Today (and I promise you I am not exaggerating or making any of this up) after weighing myself at the gym ( which resulted in me dropping an F bomb and scaring an old lady), I drove to work determined to not have any candy. First thing I see? My cubicle mate has brought in her entire Halloween candy stash (THIS late?! Come on!) and is offering me some. It's all chocolate, the good kind too. I say no. Then, my OTHER cubicle mate, one row up, who bought me an entire bag of Reese's cups on Monday, because they were on sale (?), announces she brought in Dove chocolate. Again I refuse. Here's where it gets comical.

The breakroom is filled with free candy bars. I have no idea why. This is not a normal thing (bowls of tiny candies and baked goods put out by employees? Yes. Random free candy bars in the breakroom by management? no.) Butterfinger, Baby Ruth, 100 Grand, Crunch, all free, all for the taking. All my friends go in, I dutifully stay behind, and they each come back with 5 or 6 full size candy bars they are fanning out like money. I'm offered some and again, I refuse. Now I'm wondering if I'm on some kind of sick reverse Biggest Loser Truman Show, where everyone around me is determined to keep me fat. If random set lights start falling from the sky, s**ts going down I swear.

Hopefully I can make it to the end of the day without caving. It's only 11:30 now, but all be damned if I let them get to me. Now I know how those crazy people with tin-foil on their head feel. It's not a conspiracy theory if they're really out to get you...

Ah, sluto-ween. One of my favorite holidays, next to Hallmark's forced-emotional-display Day (celebrated by most modern countries on the 14th of February.) I remember my first Halloween in college, at Florida State University. FSU is known for many things, but being a fine bastion of morality is not one of them. My one and only night I visited the "strip", which was 5 or 6 tiny bars all crammed together on the main road across from campus, was Halloween. The club we were packed in to watch some stupid band my then bf liked was making me claustrophobic, so I went to sit outside.

What happened next was a magical parade of low-self esteem, poor judgment, and girls who's fathers were physically or emotionally absent throughout childhood. Poured with alcohol over ice. Ice optional.

It was like when you were a little kid at Disney World for the first time, sitting on the corner eating a Mickey Mouse ice cream bar, chocolate melting all over your hand, staring up at the magnificent floats, enchanted princesses, and intricately spectacular costumes. Remember that feeling of awe and wonder, where you just couldn't believe you'd never seen any of this before?

It was like that, with more nipples. There were literally, (and I'm not using this word in the style of girls who say things like, "the dress was so cute I just literally died, kiki, DIED!") No, there were literally girls in their underwear, with a pair of handcuffs on a garter who were "sexy cops." The irony that had those girls been wearing that three miles to the east, they would be arrested by not-so-sexy cops for solicitation, was not lost on me. There were also girls in just underwear, with horns who were the devil. Appropriate, I thought. Want to know what the saddest part of the whole thing was? And no it wasn't that my then boyfriend was sitting next to me staring at the parade pretending to be as disgusted as me, very very unconvincingly.

It was that I was jealous. Not so much of the outfits, but of the way that the girls could command a man's attention in two milliseconds flat. I was jealous of the fact that they were what the typical person thinks of when they imagine a Florida State college girl on Halloween, whereas I had dressed up that year as roadkill (third place at the Campus Crusade costume party, what what!) It's funny to me now, years later, knowing who I am, with a confidence in myself I did not have at the time, but looking back I remember how hard it was wanting to be something I knew I never would be. I mean, I just don't have the skin tone to pull off red lingerie.

In all seriousness though, I am very happy and surprised with where I am right now in life. I just had an essay I wrote for Burnside Writers published, my second published work, and I was recently approached by someone at the church about potentially writing some things for them. To use an overly cliched Christianese phrase, God is really opening doors for me, which is giving me to confidence to know that writing is what I should be doing and He's given me a gift. I'm right where I should be, which thankfully (for everyone) involves me being fully clothed and sitting at a computer, not walking down Tennessee Street in clear heels and a scarf. I'm french, get it?