Too Beautiful To Function

Dear Lord, please protect us from your 'followers'. -More of the same, sorry.

i have this dear friend who decided to become buddhist. (i know you know who you are, and i respect your decision. this has nothing to do with the way i think about that. nor is this directed at you. this is just a good example to my point i’m about to make:o) ) i asked her to tell me a little about why she chose to go that route. she told me things like because it’s all about what goes around, comes around. all about doing good to people, and appreciating every little thing - from smells to sounds to everything. it’s about bettering who you are as a person and doing it not because some ‘god’ tells you you should. you’re doing it because you really want that for yourself. at least that’s what i remember. sorry if i’m way off.

personally, i’ve never researched the religion. basically because i don’t care all that much, to be completely honest. but from the reasons she explained to me, i thought, ‘hmm, what’s so wrong about that?’ on the surface, nothing. i guess i already do most of that. i generally want the best for people. i appreciate the little things. i really do. i realize just about every action has a consequence of some sort. but i’ve decided i think ‘karma’ isn’t as mystical as we all think it is. isn’t it just, when we get down to it, ‘cause and effect’? i honestly don’t think God is up there waiting for us to make a mistake and then BAM! slaps us on the wrist or strikes us with lightening. i honestly just think when we do good, sometimes good things happen. when we do bad, a lot of times bad things happen. but EYE don’t think that’s karma or even necessarily God. i just think that’s the way the world works. you eat a bunch of crap, you’re gonna feel and look and crap crap. you eat a bunch of good things, you’re gonna feel good, look good and crap good. right? 

so what do i find wrong with the religion? well, a biggy is that they don’t worship God – the creator of the universe and my right hand man. 

i would just like to be honest in saying i completely understand why some of you think christianity is a load of shit. i think it is too, for the most part-at least the organized religion. christians are some of the rudest, meanest, uppity, most selfish pigs i’ve ever interacted with. and i’d usually rather hang out with catholics, jehovah witnesses, and other religions where ‘good works will get you to heaven’.  (now don’t go all commenty on me. you may deny that claim of ‘works getting you to heaven’ stuff, but when you get down to it and really read the doctrine of what you’re participating in, you’ll see that i’m not so wrong after all.) 

ANYWAY, a unique thing about christianity is that it’s one of the only (if not -the only) ‘religions’ that a god has come to our level, so to speak. our god wanted a relationship with us even tho we were rude, mean, uppity and selfish pigs. so he came to earth in the form of a man (jesus) and did all the ‘good works and sacrifices’ FOR us so we wouldn’t have to EARN him. he, to be quite simple, ‘earned’ US. (dying on a cross, and coming back to life. because he’s God after all. ...can’t hold that One down, lemme tell ya.) so even tho i am forever grateful that my God would take a grenade and throw his hand on a blade for me and jump in front of a train for me (a little bruno mars for ya), i think it has left most of us feeling ‘entitled’. spoiled little bratty children. SPOILED CHILDREN! spoiled children who walk around flaunting their ‘i’m daddy’s favorite’ status in the other childrens’ face. reminding them that they’re ‘better than them’. we were bought with a price for goodness sake. we were pulled from the ashes. we were saved from the flames! and you? YOU are going to be burned in the lake of fire and turn to ashes and, uh, gnashing of teeth and hell and stuff. you are unholy. you are so unholy that you cannot hang around me. because i am redeemed. i am set free. i am the lord’s child. bull. you’re an uppity child of God who needs to be slapped in the face with their own bible they’ve been beating so many with. or punched in the face by me. either one. they’ll both work. 

so please. PLEASE, take ME and my snotty blogs and realize that ‘we’re’ not all the same. i apologize for my ‘sisters and brothers in the lord’. man i hate that phrase. because sometimes i don’t even want to be lumped into that group with ‘them’. jesus loving christians out there reading this: please be aware of how a ‘non believer’ views you. remember those ridiculous WWJD bracelets? well, maybe you should start wearing one again. that is, IF you’re one of those christians who turn more and more people OFF to the idea of loving a God that would die over and over again for you. be careful not to misrepresent who we are loving. i know i sometimes do it too, but, well, at least i try to be honest about it. i was a lot more uppity about it in high school and college. so i apologize if i misrepresented who i love. 

and to those of you who are still stuck at the beginning of the blog where i’m practically giving buddhism a good review: all i’m really saying is, perhaps we should (me included) actually LISTEN to our friends with different views and religions and take away what we can from those conversations and LEARN from them. it doesn’t mean you have to change what or who you believe in. it merely means maybe what you believe and worship IS ‘right’. but we don’t always DO it right. we don’t always love others. we don’t always think about the consequence of our actions. we don’t always appreciate the smell of a strawberry or the sound of a branch snapping. learn from others. love others. accept others and their views, because the LORD knows your views aren’t perfect either. amen. 

Abortion and Bad Weather:

your love for me is like a ...a candle??

i heard a song and one of the main lines was, ‘i’m burning for youuuu, like a candle.


i’d just like to say if a boy wrote that song for me, i’d be pissed.

your love is burning for me like a candle? a candle? seriously. a candle. you mean one of those precious little scented tins of wax with a blissful name on the side of it? one of those? where i’d light it,  and blow it out and dump the wax on the table, and repeat several times to make a lumpy wax sculpture? one of those kinds of candles? or one of those tea light candles where after you light it when ten minutes pass they’re all a pool of wax and almost unusable a second time? or maybe one of those really tall straight ones that are used in weddings and other lame things? one of those?

i’m sorry dude, but if your love is burning for me like a candle, your love is too puny for me. i can walk by you too quickly and your love for me would burn out. i could cry on you once, and your love would burn out. i could lick my fingers and pinch you and your flame of love for me would be scorched out. i could whistle your way and your flame would extinguish. nope. your love is not good enough for me, sir. no. your love for me must be that of a forrest fire. (that sentence sounded sorta poetic. because i used, ‘that of a’...)

one of those forrest fires that can’t be quenched by all the firemen in the county with their bigass hoses spraying thousands and thousands of gallons at the base of the fire. one of those forrest fires that only stops burning when there’s nothing left to burn. it has to die. so, uh, your love for me better be like a forrest fire that has to die out before it stops loving me. not a candle. wuss.

i’m sick of christians.

a friend of ours was playing a show last weekend. we went to watch, and then said hello afterwards. we just chatted very quickly and went along with our business. it was loud and hard to talk, and he had to load up his gear.

he emailed me a day later to talk about some stuff that we’ve been working on, and then said, ‘sorry if i came off a bit rude the other nite, and if you heard me swear. my band was ticking me off. i apologize.’ i emailed him back and told him not to worry about a thing. because first off: i didn’t remember him swearing, and second off: i wouldn’t care if he did.

we don’t know each other ALL that well, so i know he didn’t know i’m the ‘cool’ kind of christian. i appreciated his apology. a great deal. but at the same time, it got me thinking... this is the same frame of mind EYE have when i’m in contact with a lot of people who are ‘christians’. i watch what i say a little more. i’m more polite. - i’m not ‘fake’, i’m just a little... cleaned up. 

when i’m with my jesus loving friends that KNOW the real me, I’M the real me. the uncleaned up version of me. when i’m with my ‘non born again christian friends’ i’m the real me. i personally don’t feel like i’m going to be sent to hell if i drop a ‘naughty word’ every now and then. nor do i feel like i’m going to be sent to hell if i talk about how i don’t like most praise and worship music. nor do i feel like i’m going to be sent to hell if i don’t close my eyes when i pray, or dance during praise and worship time or lay my hands on people when i pray for them, or or or or OR OR OR. 


i’m pretty much at the point in life where my ‘christian walk’ is summed up very simply: ‘i love jesus. that’s all.’ 

i’m not a walking hypocrite either. yes, i sometimes swear, and i will admit, my ‘venting sessions’ can turn into a degree of gossip if i’m not careful. i struggle with not hating some people and i have very low patience for people who irritate me, and i’ve been known to be very angry - thru and thru- at times. BUT is that being a hypocrite? no. not at all. that folks, is honesty. what IS being hypocritical is those ‘christians’ that have smiles on their faces 24/7 who always ‘love’ everyone and look disapproving at you when you say ‘crap’. those are the kinds of people i have a hard time not hating. sigh... 

anyway, if we all were the honest, real, jesus loving ‘christians’ that paul and other great dudes of the bible were, we’d all be happy and get along. 

it’s you fake-ass snooty bible thumpers that are hardening peoples’ hearts to the real jesus and what life can be with the real him. it’s you fakers who make us think we have to ‘cleanup’ around you, because who knows WHAT you’ll think of us. 

why do we have to tiptoe around christians? why do we have to be afraid of christians? why do we have to be afraid of what christians are going to think about us? it’s a shame, really. i hate that we have to feel that way. i hate that i have to feel that way. 

if we all were acting out of true love, if we all were acting out of compassion, if we all were acting like the Lord wants us to act like, nobody would be trying to censor themselves when they talk to us. no one would think they need to change their clothes before entering our church. no one would be wondering if they should cover up their cigarette smoke smell with perfume or hiding the wine coolers in the back of the fridge. no one would need to apologize for swearing in front of us. BECAUSE we’d all be loving. caring. understanding. we’d all just LOVE people, and end it at that. true christians should be the people that ANYONE can feel comfortable around -if they were TRUE christians. but, unfortunately, 


most christians make me uncomfortable... 

said to everyone: i love you. you and your filthy mouth. you and your beer. you and your slutty clothes. you and your negative attitude.

so although i respect those of you for treating me proper and watching your mouth and brushing your teeth before hanging out with me, i would love you just as much if you didn’t. 

i'm the best frickin wife ever:

casey said something to me the other day that got me thinking. he said, “you’re the most insecure cocky person i know.” i laughed and agreed with him. it’s true. but only in some instances.

if it would come to getting on a stage with thousands of people watching me play and sing, no problem. i got this. if it comes to someone dissing what i belive in, no sweat. i can handle that. when it comes to wearing weird hair and clothes in public, the world is my runway. but when it comes to casey’s opinion of me? that’s a different story.

for those of you that don’t know, i’m an ex-wife. what an ugly label. my first husband was my favorite boyfriend to this day. but he drastically changed once we got married and screwed a girl much less hot than me. but that’s another blog. 

i think the reason i need casey’s approval in everything is because whatshisface’s opinion about the petty things in life altered how he thought of me as a person. if the eggs weren’t cooked right i was a bad wife. if i folded his jeans on the wrong crease, i was a bad and careless wife. if i crafted something that he didn’t enjoy, i wasn’t talented enough.

welp, like i’ve always said, you can be over a divorce and moved on and completely healed, but there will always be side effects. and if your thearispst says that’s not true, then get a new one. because they just want you to keep coming forever and pocket your money. (by the way, if you want a good shrink, let me know. i’ll hook you up. yes, i visit shrinks from time to time. and i love it.) 

anyway. here’s a side effect:

casey thinks i’m all that and a bag of chips. and i believe him. but for the life of me i couldn’t get over the fact that i don’t meet most guys picture of a perfect wife. i don’t cook much. i haaaaate cleaning. i’m blunt and most times have a prickely personality. i’m not soft or quiet hearted. i’m only supportive when i mean it. and i’m not very patient.

nevertheless, this past year i’ve come to really like myself. i always thought i was something special, but this year especially, i’ve just been really enjoying every bit of who God made me. but at the same time, i’ve become more and more insecure about who i am as a wife. i think it’s because i’m becomming more exposed to wives and what they should be like. more of my friends and people i’m in daily contact with are wives. 

for the two years i’ve been married to casey i’ve felt more like a really fun roommate rather than a lovely supportive wife.

then i just lost it one car ride. or maybe casey lost it from listening to one more conversation of my wife insecurities. but anyway- the conversation came up again. casey opened his mouth, “in genisis the Lord created adam a ‘help mate’. eve- a wife. the biblical definition of a wife is someone who helps her husband. And HE helps HER. well? don’t you fit that definition?”

and then it all became clear to me. i’m a fantastic wife. i’m a better wife than you. because there’s only one pink haired brat that can be casey’s wife. i help him. i’m his helpmate. i help him be a better musician. i help him have more compassion. i help him pick out movies. i help him laugh. i help him eat his leftovers. i help him start things. i help him finish what he starts. i help him have fun. i help him get out of the house and play outside. i help him complete his rock star dreams. i help him stay grounded. i help him record music. i help him to realize sometimes he’s an idiot. and he does all of those things for me. except the leftovers. i usually clean my plate and then finish his.

so there you have it. our life is childish and crazy and fun and bold. so with this life we’ve created- i’m the best frickin wife to grace the face of the earth. thank you very much.

I smell gas...

why do so many of us like the smell of gasoline? i don’t know why YOU do (if you’re one of the many) but i know why EYE do. i will tell you:

when i was just a wee little twerp, i lived in oakfield, wi. i was there for four years. while living there, my dad worked a few miles away at the fond du lac airport as an airplane mechanic. skyport was its name back then. 

my mom was a stay at home mom. we kept her very busy. we would make playdough all the time and take out every single can in the kitchen and set up a grocery store and play countless hours of the ‘merping’ clerk. (‘merp’ is the sound we thought the snanners made when you scanned groceries.)  that’s only a fraction of all the fun we’d have at home. 

during lunch time tho, we’d often get in the car and go visit dad at work. we’d drive around to the hangar we all called the ‘shop’. that’s where most of the airplanes were fixed. as soon as we’d open the big metal door full of dents, there would be this amazing smell of avgas and oil. donny or dave would often greet us. these were dad’s co-workers. donny was a curly dark haired dude that had a mustache. dave was more clean cut. they all wore navy blue dickies and the typical mechanic shirts. they had the cool embroidered name tags. 

we’d usually find dad on one of those cart things that you lay on to get underneath cars and stuff. sometimes we’d play on them. he’d drop everything and come greet us. his fingers were always stained with grease. even if he washed them in that heavy duty orange soap with the grit in it. 

i always thought his hands were interesting. i’m not sure why. maybe because of the fact that they never came clean. he’s got these sorta stubby fat fingers, but he can play guitar very well. and he can fix just about anything. no, everything. i don’t think he’s ever failed at fixing anything. his hands smacked my butt countless times for being a brat. but his hands also were/are really good at making really detailed things on the etch a sketch. his hands also were my stress relievers. i’d get so tense and angry that i’d need to punch my sister, or push her or, well, just anything to get the tension out of my muscles. he’d put up his hands and i’d put up my fists against them and push with all the might i had in me. it worked. his fingers would tickle my feet in the morning to wake me up. every.morning. but after awhile it didn’t work anymore. i got used to it. anyway, back at the shop:

mom and he would sit at the always cluttered desk there in the shop, while us girls would play ‘balance beam’ on the troff/grate/drain thing on the floor that oil and other engine excrement run off into. every.single.time we were told to be careful cuz our shoes could easily get stuck and we’d face plant into the grate and end up with lined bruises all up and down our face. i never fell tho.

we’d take a break pretending we were in the olympics on the balance beam and go bug mom and dad for a bit. we’d take turns sitting in the creaky desk chairs with wheels and spin each other around until we couldn’t go any longer. then we’d push each other around the shop in them and were once again told to be careful of the drain. 

we would then take a short walk across another hangar that was attached to the shop and enter into the office. the back room housed the vending machine that was never short of nutty bars. we’d always get one. this would be the time that us girls would stuff our faces, dad would do the same, and mom would use the bathroom before we headed out. 

mom: “alright ladybugs...” that was our cue. we’d all walk back to the shop hangar. sometimes donny would be welding something off in the corner by the door. “don’t look at the sparks,” dad would say. cuz they could make us go blind. so i was told. i snuck a peek now and again just to look at what i was told not to look at. but i wouldn’t look too long. naturally, i didn’t want to go blind. ...now that i think about it, i'm the only one of the tegeler girls with crappy vision. perhaps it's related to my peeking. 

then we’d each give dad a hug. he’d squeeze us and say, “love you baby, be’good girl nomey.” (he still says that to me) that’s when you could really smell the avgas and oil. it’s always a comforting feeling when i smell that smell. my mind shoots straight to dad whenever i smell it. 

and today (which is actually a week ago...i didn’t finish writing this all in one setting...oops) while i was filling up the snowblower with gas and 2 stroke oil, i had the beautiful smell graze my nose. i accidently spilled some on the blower which transfered to my mittens. the grownup in me (which actually DOES come make a rare appearance every once in a while) got a little fussy and thought, ‘oh crap. now my mittens are going to smell like gasoline. i’ll have to throw them thru the wash.’ but then as i inhaled a bit more, the real me (which is somewhere stuck between an 8 year old crossed with a 24 year old’s common sense) thought, ‘awwwsome. my mitties are gonna smell like gas!’ 

and happy thoughts crossed my mind. 

and those happy thoughts are just what you got done reading about. 

a high five in the form of a reciprocated grin:

if you know me, you know that i don't read much. which is kind of weird, because i love to write. but maybe you don't view that as odd. you may read my stuff and think i SHOULD read more, cuz i have no flow or rhyme or reason to anything. perhaps if i read more poetry or philosophy i'd sound brighter when i wrote. that's what you say. but i say, i don't really give a duck. i just like to let what's in, out. bahha insert immature bathroom joke here.

moving right along...

another odd thing about me: i don't listen to much music out of choice. at work the girls always have music playing. but when i drive, the radio is always off. i don't sing in the shower, and i don't play the radio while getting ready in the morning. i have favorite artists, don't get me wrong. but i just don't think i actually listen to music as much as the normal person does. that's odd because i write music constantly. and play it and record it. part of me likes it that way, because when i'm done writing a song, i can sit back and say, 'i didn't get any inspiration from any other song out there. this one's all me.' and that's a very satisfying feeling. i like hearing myself think when it's quiet. and that's not me trying to be poetic. i just really like thinking about my thoughts. and that's best done quietly.

anyhoo, today i finished a book. i FINISHED a book. i can count on one hand how many books i've finished in my life. (not counting the ones i was forced to read for school...which some of those were only cliff notes...and no, i feel no guilt about that)

i read this book of poetry. disgusting, i know. i really hate poetry actually. i get these creepy crawly awkward feelings every time a character recites poetry to another in a movie. if any dude were to recite poetry to me, i'd prolly dump him on the spot. no, not probably, i would. i just think it's stupid. put it on a melody and sing it to me, and we can talk.

but anyWAY, yes. i read a poetry book. by CHOICE. from front cover to back cover. in THREE settings. wait...not three different places (settings)...in three sessions. there. that explains it better, i think. ok.

it was called 'all the hits so far, but don't expect too much. poetry, prose & other sundry items'. well, it's STILL called that...forget i said it WAS called...

moving right along:

it's by this kid named bradley hathaway who's prolly around my age or a little older. he seems like an average jesus loving kid who's lacking the 'religious' spirituality. just like me! i started to fall in like with his thought process. i felt a little bad, because i'm married. i shouldn't be falling in like with anyone's anything. but then, i discovered, it was MY thought process i was falling in like with. this dude reminds me of me. me me me. and i liked what i saw. i like me. and you're cocky if you thought that was a cocky thing to say.

so yeah, you should check him out. one of my friends said he met him once and thought he was a dick. but that's ok. i'm a dick sometimes too. so give him a chance. you may like him. but if you think he's a dick, don't say i didn't warn ya.

anyway, i was in a room full of people in a public vicinity as i finished this book. i read the last word and a little crooked smile came over my lips. it got bigger and took up my face when i shut the covers together. i looked to my left, and then to my right, still with the slight grin on my face, to see if anyone just saw my accomplishment. and i really did this. this isn't just cute writing, folks. i was grinnin and looking for someone to pat me on the back. but no one seemed to care. the nerve. i guess everybody there had read many books in their lifetime. poetry books even. they prolly thought my 120 page book was nothing to shake a stick at. i was looking for a high five in the form of a reciprocated grin. but alas, another private moment.
well, not so private now.


here one of his songs here:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zp9wwWwa2KY

do you want a knuckle sandwich?

some of you may read this and put your hand to your heart and get a concerned look on your face and slowly shake your head from side to side while saying, ‘she’s so brash,’ or , ‘let’s pray for her,’ or something lame like that. but don’t worry. i’m perfectly pleasant and love the lord. i’m just, well, being honest.

it is a well known fact with the people i spend the most time with that i have a bucket list. things on that list contain things like tagging a train car, becoming a biker chick, and the like. 

here’s another: i want to punch someone in the face. 

really hard. a real punch. i want to hear a dramatic thud and have them stumble sideways backwards and moan while holding their face. immediately after punching them i want to shake my hand in pain and clench my teeth together and inhale thru them (like you see them do in movies...does anyone know what i’m talking about? anyone?) while watching the dude (or chick) stumble.

i want to have the punch take place somewhere secluded so i don’t get arrested for beating people up or whatever the charge would be. 

i want a really good reason for punching them too. i always tell myself that if anyone messes with my family, i will (try to) take them down. maybe if a really slutty chick started hitting on casey and neither one of us could get her to go away with words. that’d be a good reason. OR or or !! If someone was beating someone ELSE up, then i would punch them to get them to stop punching the other person. that way it’d be noble. 

i always tell casey that if a dude ever hits on me but wont leave me alone and starts to get gross, to not interfere, but to stand very close by. because EYE want to be the one to punch him in the face. but then casey would be close by to make sure i punched him good enough. he can punch him after i knock him to the ground. but i want first dibs. 

my friend ashlie has a bucket list. she wants to GET punched in the face before she dies. maybe we could work something out...

Make no mistake...

THIS...is not a mess:
my craft room is posing as the room where we store all our home improvement stuff right now. so crafting takes place on the kitchen table. i made a bunch of christmas thank you cards. yes, yes, it's late. but i figured it's never TOO late to say thanks.

i found a magazine picture of a coffee cup. i stuck it on some cardstock and cut it out. it almost looks like you could take a sip. 

i recycled some old cardboard and ripped up a bunch of paper. it was refreshing.

i found a cool kaleidoscope picture. i put some tule/lace/mesh stuff over top of it and then stuck a bunch of beads on the edges. it looks like crap in picture, but in person, it's fricken sweet. 

nothin special. i just liked the design. 

more cardboard recycled. 

Pay Up Sucker

hello folks. here's something i'm working on. sorry to those who already heard it. there's a lot i need to do to it yet, but here it is, just for a sneak peek. wait, sneak listen.

Imma make myself an apron!

nomnomnom, i just ate a spoonful of coolwhip for an after work snack. so light and fluffy. i think i shall eat another.

here comes the blog:

i read a couple blogs of some people that i know. they're so, ...so...homey. they are good wives. they make supper and are pleasant. they're homemakers. i like to make my home homey... but it's not your typical definition of 'homey'. and i don't cook much.

i kinda wish i was more of a homemaker. but honestly, cooking and keeping my house spotless is just not my cup of chai.

what is a homemaker really? no really, i'm asking...

i like to bake cupcakes and make things out of other things. <--that means crafting. is that sorta homemakerish?

i decided that perhaps i would like spending more time in the kitchen if i had something to look forward to. if there's no dessert coming out of the freezer or oven, i don't really wanna be in the kitchen. SO - imma make myself an apron! i'm gonna go to gramma's house and she's gonna let me borrow her sewing machine. i'm gonna take my apron pattern and find some beautiful fabric and craft myself a 'this is my homemaker apron' apron. (and by beautiful fabric, i mean something with little skulls on it.)

casey says he's taking me fabric shopping tomorrow. i'm not sure if his initiative in suggesting we go hunt for skull fabric is just because he's a kicka$$ husband, or if he's hoping the apron will inspire some homemakingness from his crazy wife. honestly? i think it's the first. *sigh* ...yuck. i hate mushy moments. that was sick. snapping out of it. moving along...

Allow me to introduce myself:

hi. it’s me.
who am i? someone you’ll either hate or really enjoy. i don’t believe in gray areas, so you’ll take me or leave me. i won’t allow you to dance in the middle with me.
i am loud. i am rude. but i’m perfectly capable of shutting up and being the nicest thing in the world. i’m opinionated.
i like things that a lot of others don’t.
i get irritated more than most.
i love jesus. i have since i was three. i loved the lord before i could ride a bike.
i am a musician. i’ve played the guitar longer than i could reach the sink.
i’ve gotten more spankin’s than i can count.
i appreciate the tiny things.
i probably like you more than you like me in a lot of cases. the few times we may have talked mean more to me than they’ll ever mean to you, most likely.
i’m hard on myself. i allow no wussiness to creep into my life.
i love my family. my younger sister can make me laugh, and laughs at all of my jokes. all of them. and the cool thing is, i really think she thinks they’re genuinely funny. my older sister can get along with just about anyone. i don’t understand how she does that. my mom will fight for me and always win. my dad gets me. my husband? just...wow. <--that’s a good wow.

fake people piss me off more than almost everything. so does religion. mostly because religion is a clique. and cliques are full of fakers. all things i hate.

i’d drink out of a mug before a glass. handles are convenient.
i hate gum.
i fear cougars.
heights make me uneasy.
if you want to motivate me, tell me i can’t do it.
if you want to please me, make me something. anything. i like to craft. all sorts of things.
i hate reading. most the time.
i’m an apple. but jesus loves pc users too.

i swear from time to time. and those of you who say, ‘naomi, if you love the lord, you shouldn’t use such fowl language.’ and i’ll tell you, ‘person, if you love the lord, you’ll let the holy spirit do his job.’

i really like chai lattes. but i hate starbux.

i almost never capitalize letters when they should be. (i’m such a rebel.) but more truthfully, i think it’s pointless. i overuse commas. but i just put them where i would pause if i were actually talking. i also over use ellipses. but i’m aware of both of these faults. and i don’t care.

i don’t know how to play chess and i never want to learn.

What To Expect:

thanks for deciding to read my blog. i’d tell you, ‘it really means the world to me,’ but i’d be lying. i really do want you to read my blog. but i also am ok with you not wanting to. i probably wouldn’t want to read your blog either. mostly because i just don’t really like reading. but maybe because i don’t like what you have to say. haven’t decided yet;o)

entries will include some journal conversations i have with god out of my ‘dear god journal’. i write a lot of my prayers down because i get distracted when i pray. my mind wanders. entries will also include things that i think about. to tell you the truth, i don’t know what entries will include. but i also don’t care. we’ll see what happens. 

why am i writing a blog? because i like to express myself. in every way possible. that’s why i write and record and perform music. that’s why my hair is pink. that’s why i have tattoos. that’s why i breathe. that’s why i ...uh...i don’t know what else to say after that one. 

anyway. i decided to write a blog because of the above stated, but also because i want people to know that we NEED you to be who you are. please please please be who you are. i’m a firm believer in what i’m about to write: i believe that god didn’t create screw ups. i believe god created every human being with a hope that they’d be who god created them to be. and if that was his goal, then we’d all be happy. think about it. if we all started acting like who we really are?...if we all actually LIKED who we were at the core...if we all stopped comparing ourselves to the next person and just became in love with who god created US to be as an individual in HIM? wow. we’d all get along. that’s what god had in mind. why else would he make us all different? if this wasn’t the case at all, he would have created everyone to be like me. but he didn’t. he created you to be you. and since you’re not being everything god created you to be, you’re screwing up the world. plain and simple. so, please start being you. start liking you. please, for the sake the world. why can’t we all just get along???????!!!!! *fake crying*

anyway, so this is my effort. hopefully this will encourage you to be you, by me being me. this is me trying my best to be me. take it or leave it sucker.