  Robyn sick, but needs to blog anyways: Today I'll be discussing skinny girls, dream jobs, old goodness, trancendental experiences of god, and some other random stuff. Let's begin with skinny girls. I'm not one. Evidently I never was one, in the best of shape i was still fairly squat, and i heard the term 'brick shit house' applied to me more than once. i was strong, slow on the swim, but quick on the sprint, and had endurance. Go me.
Then University happened, with its designated feeding times, and i no longer had any impetus to keep in shape so, i just stopped being active. Didn't really notice a change until i came home after first year. I did not bring home a 'frosh fifteen'; it was thirty five pounds. I became padded, and pretty much stayed that way. Most of the time, I'm ok with that. I'm curvy, not heinous to look at.
Bigger, yeah huh, but I'm happy to eat, happy to lounge, and i can still hike and swim which are really the only active things i enjoyed. Other training was strictly for being a decent lifeguard. I hate running. Swimming laps in a pool drive me nuts, and the gym makes me feel like a hamster. I'd be happy to chop wood, and haul it in, but i live in an apartment. When kurt and i settle down, i want to live in a house, have barn, have some chickens, dogs, and a horse, as well as cats.
Logistics of that are pending. Anyways, my point is, I'm happy with how i look. Most of the time. Skinny girls can wear anything they want, and have it still look good. I remember a chick i saw in a bar one summer. She was lovely, skinny, and she was wearing a bandanna as a shirt.
It didn't look skanky, it looked comfortable, flirty, and covered plenty of area, while still showing the tanned skin on her back. It was nice. At the beach that summer, i saw plenty of girls wear cool looking two pieces, you know the ones; the boy shorts. Surfer girl clothes. I was envious. Still am.
It's entirely too bad that i simply don't care enough to be that skinny. My dad says it's because clohes look better on a hanger. True. But, can skinny girls wear cool clothes. Dream jobs for me (in no particular order): 1) Run a HUGE no-kill humane society, where no animal gets the furnace, or injection. The mean ones can be mean, off in their own mean place.
Nice ones can be kept or adopted out by people we interview. Weird feral cats can be weird and feral, sterilized, and we'd build a place where they can hide and be slinky. Big fenced in fields for friendly well, socialized dogs dogs that want to run, large porch, and a bunch of trees for those who don't. Warm places to sleep for everybody. A veterinarian on hand for emergencies and maintainence. A safe place, a place where old dogs can die in peace, and be buried under rose bushes.
It'd be hard. And worth it. 2) Writer of novels, children's stories, movie review columns. Best sellers not required - but i do want to see the things i write published. And no vanity presses either. Also, i think it'd be cool to write an advice column.
Why? That I don't know, but it sure seems to be interesting. 3) Stand up comedian. Without the travel, perhaps without the audience, and basically, without any basis in reality. 4) radio dj - for some alternative type of place, not, say Popular Crap 101. But, there is that audience problem... 5) a mom.
6) University prof - preferably a creative writing prof. 7) own and design t-shirts, and cool clothing that everyone can wear. Kurt keeps telling me i can do it all. Sometimes i believe him. I find that right now, though, my biggest problem is what to do first. On the topic of old goodness. Shit isn't made nearly as well as it could be, and a damn sight worse than it was.
Take cars, for instance. Their frames are less durable, and they're likely to crumple in an accident. The premise is that the frame is absorbing the shock so it doesn't go through passengers' bodies. Doesn't that sound like horseshit? I was hit by a car a few years ago. The rig i was driving crumpled, and the guy that hit me didn't even have paint knocked off.
He was driving a 70s monster, and i was driving a newish truckish thing. No one was hurt, but i had the overwhelming sense that if the guy didn't put on his brakes right away he would have ripped the vechicle i was driving in two. Here's the logic to making crappy cars: They wear out, and you buy another. You aren't satisfied, you're still in the market. What makes more money? A satisfied customer, or one that has to replace bits repeatedly?
Now apply this premise to just about everything, and welcome to the market. Wow. That was Kurtlike. And now, a story : It was the summer of hell, and i was working an overtime shift that finished just a little after dawn. I was on the green over by where the river leads into the ocean, and for that early in the morning it was hot. After my shift, i went to center beach, and went for a swim.
The sun was rising right over the Island, and everything was gold. The water, my skin, the light on sand. It was much prettier than gold jewelery. I had this weird realisation, that i was part of the water, and the sand, and even the light that fell on everything. What happened next is weird, and a comepletely undescribeable Event; to put it bluntly, god donked me on the noggin, told me that i was a part of his plan, and that i was going to be taken care of. Sure I was small, but i fit perfectly.
And then there was joy, and peace for a moment. It was an entirely perfect moment. I went to school after that summer, and my roommate knew that there was something different floating around in my head. I told her what happend, and she got me to read stuff by Ralph Waldo Emerson, and Henry David Thoreau. The were perfect at describing what had happend to them, and it was the same occurance as mine, with slight variances. I went looking for god.
Eventually he found me, but it took a long while after this experience. That is the reason i do believe in god; he popped up and said hi. I do not think that it would be possible any other way for me - i was such a rabid skeptic. It was also a crazy road in between; after that summer i fell into a depressed hole, and couldn't climb out again. Read everything i could handle on god and religions and buddhism and other related topics. Dodged suicide attempts.
Eventually, i found what i was looking for; a cd liner that that this message on it. I don't remember it verbatim, but here's the gist: "I looked for Him on the cross, but He wasn't there. I looked under the Bodhi Tree but He wasn't there either. I searched everywhere for Him, only to look into my heart and find Him waiting for me there, all along. " Cry bullshit, believe me, or dimiss it. But He's there, waiting for you, and will wait as long as it takes.
And here comes a brief (hopefully) rant on Christian culture. It's exclusionary, breeds ignorance in the form of safety, and judgement where there ought to be acceptance. Christians do not have the monopoly on judemental behaviour; but they are awfully well known by it. Fact is, everyone judges. I judge, and i feel I'm right. You judge and do the same, but it's all dog farts in the end; a person can never know what's in another person's heart, soul or mind, it is something that is never entirely disclosed.
Hell, you can even surprise yourself. So don't tell me what the bible says about gay folks, or whatever else. It is far worse to abandon someone, a worse mistake to give up hope for other people. God loves everybody, even those freaks in the bible who wanted to bash kids' skulls on rocks, and give away their daughters. Murderers, rapists. Every single person is loved by god, in the sense that they always have a chance, god always has hope for them.
I'm not saying be God, and love these people. Just don't give up, on anybody. Always hope for them. This is what i find lacking in christian culture; forgiveness, hopefullness, and the sense that we're all playing dress up, really - we aren't christ. We all make mistakes, and some of them are too hideous to imagine. We all miss the mark.
So don't look down on anyone (I suppose i really ought to say 'try') unless, of course, you're helping that person up. Andthe point of that somewhat longish blurt - I decided i want to try to do the church thing in the form of a nice little chapel. I figure, well, at least if i'm in the culture, i can help, (oh arrogant but hopeful me) bring some people around to a more accepting way of thinking - without the visits to church, I doubt i'd either get a forum to speak, or a hearing if i spoke. (And you thought I didn't have a point...) Right. I'll just urlLink shut the fuck up about this heavy stuffing now. Go see "Hildago".
Such a good movie. I love horses. And Viggo, and stories where things are simple. (Well, i love any story, really, but there's something cleansing about a story that just involves a goal. ) oh, and Viggo. You can tell that guy chooses movies he's in, just for the hell of it.Check out his filmography urlLink here.
Enough! I am feverish, and you are crazy! Bedtime! ! 
