TUCKTOWN

Evil Evil Universe

2007-04-20T14:37:00.000-07:00

I think the universe wants my bobby pins.

Let me explain.

Have you ever noticed that your socks disappear when you use the dryer? You put an even number of socks in the dryer and, upon completion of the drying process, an uneven number of socks come out of the dryer. Have you ever wondered why this is?

It's because the dryer wants your socks.

Similarly, the back yard wants the dogs' chew toys. The dishwasher wants all my favorite spoons. The under-bed wants my shoes. The couch wants my car keys. The couch also wants my money. You get the picture.

Well, the universe wants my bobby pins. I can't even count how many bobby pins I've bought over the last few months. Last time, I bought a jumbo pack. It contained about 200 bobby pins. That's a lot of bobby pins. Well, they're all gone. Yesterday, I needed two bobby pins. However, in my entire house, I could only find one bobby pin. What use is one measly bobby pin? I found myself in utter disbeleif, and then it hit me.

The universe wants my bobby pins.

Maybe I should switch to paperclips or duct tape or rubber cement. I just need something to hold my hair back, and bobby pins are no longer the answer.

Ch-ch-ch-changes!

2007-03-23T14:51:00.000-07:00

I'm eating lunch right now. Sushi. I love it. I haven't written here in a super duper long time. I'll give a little life update.

There's a boy. His name is Andrew and we've been "official" since August. It's been almost 8 months. This is my longest relationship ever, and I'm very happy.

I'm finally working with dogs. I've always wanted to, in fact a little over year ago I wrote a blog about my dreams and aspirations. Well, I finally got off my butt and started doing something to realize my dreams. In January, I started working at SafeHaven Humane Society in Albany. It was a huge pay cut, I had to work 2 jobs to support myself, and I had to commute, but I didn't care about any of that. I was taking the first step toward realizing what's been my dream for a long time. When I was a little kid, I decided that when I grew up I wanted to be just like a lady named Carol Alipaz, who was and still is a close family friend. She always had swarms of dogs at her house, and it always made me happy. Ever since then, I've wanted to work with dogs.

Well, last week I scored an even better dog job. I didn't think I had much of a chance, but I went ahead and applied to be the Assistant Dog Trainer at Field of Dreams, a kennel not far from my house in Sweet Home. A few days later, I got a call back. When I went in to meet Kirsten, she hired me on the spot. I had to quit my job at SafeHaven, which is sad, but this job has a lot more potential for growth. Plus, it pays a little more. I wish money didn't have to be a factor, but it is. I imagine you want to know why. Let me explain.

Last fall, I moved in to a house with two girl friends. It was great, for a while. However, in January (completely out of the blue), one of my roommates decided that her parents couldn't pay her rent anymore. I was stuck in a huge pickle. I had just taken a huge pay cut to work at SafeHaven, and I couldn't afford to pay more rent. In the end, I decided to suck it up and get out of that situation as fast as I could. The details are unimportant at this point, but I found a little house in Sweet Home that allowed dogs and that I could (kindof) afford on my own. The rent is $200 more than what I was paying, which sucks, but now I don't have to deal with roommates flaking out on me ever again.

Anywho, I moved in to my new house on February 1st. Why in Sweet Home? Because finding a house within a matter of weeks that allows dogs and that I can afford on my own is very, very difficult. So I live in Sweet Home now. And my new job at Field of Dreams is only 8 minutes from my house, which is amazing because I was commuting every single day. I'm still working in Eugene 2 days a week, but I drive down Thursday morning, spend the night on the couch at my parents', and drive back up Friday night. So now, I'm only commuting once a week, except for when I'm driving to and from Andrew's house in Corvallis.

If you're unfamiliar with the area, here's a simple way to look at my commuting. Sweet Home, Eugene, and Corvallis are basically like 3 points on a triangle, and the distance between each point is about 45 minutes to 1 hour.

So now I'm working 7 days a week, about 50-60 hours. Hopefully, I'll be able to quit my job in Eugene soon. We'll see. I'm not jumping in to that because I really need to make as much money as I can right now. I'm busting my bum doing it, but I'm doing it.

You might be wondering about school. I'm still in college. Kindof. I'm taking 1 class a term. I'm taking the slow track right now, but I don't really have a choice. I'm okay with that.

What else? Oh, we got a new dog. Andrew and I went to the Humane Society in Corvallis one Friday afternoon in January, and we came home with a puppy. Her name was originally Natasha, but we changed it to Brooke. Her estimated birth date is August 15th, which is the day after Andrew and I started dating. She's part German Shepherd and part Bernese Mountain Dog. He paws are huge, and she's probably going to weigh over 100 pounds. Brooke's almost 8 months old now, and she's super cute.

Brooke and Henry are getting along pretty well. Henry had to get used to not being the only child anymore, but he's adjusting. Sometimes he's a little grumpy, but he's 8 1/2 now and becoming more and more of an old man. He's old for his age, and I know his joints hurt sometimes. Henry likes having the company of a little sister, though. I love it when they curl up together in my backseat. I love having 2 dogs.

Basically, I'm pretty much just at a good place. Very busy right now and money is ridiculously tight, but I'm doing what I can. I'm going places, and I'm doing what I love. At the end of the day, I'm always tired but I can't believe how blessed I am.

Olive juice.

Random Acts of Kindness

2006-09-11T14:41:00.000-07:00

Random acts of kindness. Random compliments. They’re the best, because they’re completely unexpected and they catch you utterly off guard.

One of those happened this morning, when I was in line at the Safeway in Corvallis buying some groceries for Andrew. It was one of those uber long Safeway lines where everybody’s completely silent, secretly waiting for someone to start a conversation so they can eavesdrop, thus occupying their idle minds as they wait for the slowpoke in front of them to pay for their ginormous cart full of groceries.

Suddenly, the kind-looking, wrinkly-faced old man in front of me turned around and said, “Has anyone told you today how pretty you are?” Naturally, I didn’t know what to say. My face turned some deep shade of red as I looked around desperately for some distraction to take the attention off of me. Everybody’s ears perked and they smiled at the kind gesture, almost as if the little old man had complimented them as well. After a moment of silence, he spoke up again. “Well, then, let me be the first to tell you today that you are very pretty.”And that was it.

The dozen-or-so people who had been within earshot of the man’s comment found themselves with pleasant smiles on their faces, all because this one little man randomly complimented the person standing behind him in line. He made the world around him a little better. It didn’t cost him anything, he didn’t have to go out of his way more than the step-and-a-half it took to turn around and speak to me.

So I drove back to Eugene and when I checked my email at work, there was one message that stood out from all the rest. It was a simple two-liner from my grandparents, who live in Texas. It read quite simply, "Melly... We love you. You are wonderful. You are so neat, so fine, so fun that you drive us crazy. Your devoted fans, Sab and Soft." So little, yet so much.

That’s what it’s all about, isn’t it? You do what you have to do every day – you take out the trash, you go to work, you make the bed, you wash the dishes, but it’s all for nothing if you’re not making something better. If you’re not taking the little seemingly insignificant spot in the world you’ve been given, and making it more bearable. Even if it’s only the smallest thing, somebody will notice and your presence will have made a difference in somebody’s day.

People do nice things for each of us every day; our only duty is to pass it on. That’s what it’s all about. Pass it on.

Third Culture Kids

2006-09-08T13:42:00.000-07:00

A friend of mine posted this, so I thought I'd post it too. It's about third culture kids, and it's very, very true.

"What is a third culture kid?" you say. Well...

A third culture kid is a person who has spent a significant part of his or her developmental years outside their parents' culture. The TCK builds relationships to all the cultures, while not having full ownership in any. Although elements from each culture are assimilated into the third culture kid's life experience, the sense of belonging is in relationship to others of the same background, other TCKs.

You know you're a TCK when:

• "Where are you from?" has more than one reasonable answer.

• You've said that you're from some foreign country, and your audience has asked you which US state said foreign country is in.

• You flew before you could walk.

• You speak two languages, but can’t spell in either. [I don't have this problem, but many TCKs do.]

• You feel odd being in the ethnic majority.

• You have at least three passports.

• You go into culture shock upon returning to your "home" country.

• Your life story uses the phrase "Then we moved to..." three (or four, or five, or twenty...) times.

• You wince when people mispronounce foreign words.

• You don't know whether to write the date as day/month/year, month/day/year, or some variation thereof.

• The best word for something is the word you learned first, regardless of the language.

• You get confused because US money isn't color-coded.

• You think VISA is a document that's stamped in your passport, not a plastic card you carry in your wallet.

• You own personal appliances with 3 types of plugs, know the difference between 110 and 220 volts, 50 and 60 cycle current, and realize that a trasnsformer isn't always enough to make your appliances work.

• You fried a number of appliances during the learning process.

• Half of your phone calls are unintelligible to those around you.

• You believe vehemently that football is played with a round, spotted ball.

• You consider a city 500 miles away "very close."

• You cruise the Internet looking for fonts that can support foreign alphabets.

• You think in the metric system and Celsius.

• You may have learned to think in feet and miles as well, after a few years of
living in the US.

• You're constantly very tempted to haggle with the checkout clerk for a lower price.

• Your minor is a foreign language you already speak. [Major, in my case... hehehe]

• When asked a question in a certain language, you absentmindedly respond in a different one.

• You miss the subtitles when you see the latest movie.

• You've gotten out of school because of monsoons, bomb threats, and/or popular demonstrations... but never a snowstorm.

• You speak with authority on the subject of airline travel.

• You know how to pack.

• You have the undying urge to move to a new country every couple of years.

• The thought of sending your kids to public school scares you, while the thought of letting them fly alone doesn't at all.

• You think that high school reunions are all but impossible.

• You have friends from 29 different countries.

• You sort your friends by continent.

• You constantly use the time zone map in your cell phone.

• You realize what a small world it is, after all.

Maybe you understand me a little bit better now.

Loving the Wrong Person

2006-08-03T17:26:00.000-07:00

So I just got back from leading a bunch of middle school boys through the low ropes course here at Camp Arrah Wanna, and sitting next to my computer is a random, but interesting-looking book called Daily Afflictions: The Agony of Being Connected to Everything in the Universe, by Andrew Boyd. Intrigued by the title and excited about my unsuspected find, I picked it up and started reading.

The pages are filled with slightly twisted views on life, love, politics, religion, et cetera. I found one page particularly interesting, so I thought I'd share it with cyberspace.

Loving the Wrong Person

We're all seeking that special person who is right for us. But if you've been through enough relationships, you begin to suspect there's no right person, just different flavors of wrong. Why is this? Because you yourself are wrong in some way, and you seek out partners who are wrong in some complementary way.

But it takes a lot of living to fully grow into your wrongness. It isn't until you finally run up against your deepest demons, your unsolvable problems - the ones that make you truly who you are - that you're ready to find a life-long mate. Only then do you finally know what you're looking for. You're looking for the wrong person. But not just any wrong person: the right wrong person - someone you lovingly gaze upon and think, "This is a problem I want to have."

I will find that special person who is wrong for me in just the right way.

It's weird that I came across this, because it's very much along the lines of what I've been pondering for the last several days. How funny.

But for now, my feet are practically black from dirt. Literally. I need to go take a shower, because the talent show is tonight and we, the Pro Crew, get all dressed up for it. The guys even got suits at the thrift store. Rather tacky suits, but alas, therein lies their awesomeness.

Tucker out!

I think tonight I'll take the long way...

2006-07-09T22:49:00.000-07:00

It's Sunday night. Guess how I spent my weekend? At the office. I worked 12 hours yesterday, and 10 hours today. Lame. "Dear Mel, why are you suicidal?" you ask. I'm not. I actually worked those insane hours on purpose, so that I can go to California next week. Just me, my new car, Bristow the iPod, and friends to visit. Why? Because you're only young once and... becuase I can!

One day, I'll be tied down with husband, children, dogs, and various other pets. Right now, I'm tied down with none of the above. Henry, my lovable 8-year-old lab, is still partly my parents' for now. Well, he's my dog but we live with my parents. Hopefully, in the fall, I'll move out and take him with me. At which point, I will have officially begun the tying-down-for-life process. Yippee! I'm all about new stages in life, but I just so happen to be avoiding them until the end of the summer.

Anywho. The cool thing about my work is that our office building is snuggled right up between the University of Oregon campus and the Willamette River. It's a wonderful place, especially when it's not raining. This is because dry ground tenderly echoes the names of my rollerblades, until they find their way out of my trunk. Which, by the way, happens to be where they permanently reside – just in case a percipitation-free day should come along.

Along both sides of the river are wonderfully picturesque paved pathways, ideal for the avid rollerblader.

Just to be clear, I call myself an avid rollerblader because I enjoy rollerblading, not because I particularly thrive on the extreme whatnots that can be done on eight small wheels. I rather dislike excessive amounts of speed, and coincidentally the hills that produce said speed. As a result, I've spent my entire life searching for ideal locales to fulfill my rollerblading needs.

Switzerland was generally not so great. We lived atop a huuuuuuuuge hill, which was surrounded by more huuuuuuuuge hills. However, a 10-minute walk placed you at the Neuchâtel Lake, which was more or less perfect. I loved rollerblading around the lake, but I always felt like an idiot walking down to the lake with my rollerblades in tow. However, as a result of walking down said hills, I am still alive. The painful events that I avoided simply by walking instead of risking my life... Let's just say that, even as a 9, 10, 11, and 16-year-old, I was obviously already extremely intelligent.

Africa was pretty much horrible for rollerblading. We had the Petit-Poteau court and, in later years, the gym but I can only rollerblade in circles for so long. I can only do anything in circles for so long before I crave unbounded freedom. Unfortunately, most of the roads in Africa were made of dirt. Where there was a paved road, it had no sidewalk... and besides, the paved road was surrounded on all sides by dirt roads. Dirt and rollerblades are not friends, this I know. And so, my rollerblades stayed in the closet, along with my rather varied and colorful collection of cheap shoes from the African marketplace.

Oh, wait! How could I forget? Our house in Africa had marble floors. Let me tell you, marble floors are OPTIMAL for rollerblading. That house was wonderful. There was many a rollerblading day spent in that house. Oddly enough, my mother highly encouraged my house-rollerblading ventures, which may give you an insight as to why I yam as carefree, adventurous, and uninhibited as I yam.

So then we moved to Eugene. As of July 3rd, we've been back in America for 4 years. In some ways, it feels like it's been that long; in some ways, it doesn't. But that's an entire 'nother subject. I'm talking about rollerblading here, don't get me off track!

Not too long after moving here, I discovered the glorious afore-mentioned riverside pathway. Long story short, I saved up my money, bought myself some nice rollerblades 2 or 3 years ago, and my life has never been the same since. The pathway has been mucho improved upon since I first began my Eugene Rollerblading Adventures, and it has now become the perfect place for me and my rollerblades to thrive. It is our haven. Our sanctuary. Do you like how I refer to me and my rollerblades as a plural? This is because, when I strap them on my ever-waiting feet, we become one. We become synonymous. What? Who are you talking to – me or my rollerblades? Because we're both listening.

You're probably wondering why I sound like a freak right now.

Well, around 7:30 tonight, I decided to take a break from work and go out on a rollerblading venture. It was the most refreshing thing I've done in a long time. It had been way too long since my wheels had met those particular stretches of pavement, those particular bridges, those particular leaves which ever-so-cunningly tried to make me slip. I even went full speed down "the hill," which in itself is an accomplishment of unequivocal grandeur.

I cleared my head, I recharged my batteries, and now I feel like I can take on the world.

But first, I have to pack for California. Because it's midnight, I'm leaving in the morning, and I still have laundry to do. And I have to get a restful night's sleep, because there will be no one in the car to keep me awake should I begin to nod off from Driver's Fatigue tomorrow.

In short, I should stop rambling and get my stuff done so I can hit the sack. Goodnight, and sweet dreams. May they be filled with rollerblading wonders!!

Cold Schmold

2006-07-04T03:35:00.001-07:00

I have officially decided that cold weather is NOT where it's at. But like most things with me, there's a back story that makes this epiphany all the more groundbreaking.

When I was a little kid in good 'ole Fresno, California, my brother and I saw snow once a year. It was wonderful. Right around Christmas every year, we would pile in the car and drive to the mountains for an afternoon of playin' in the snow. We would throw snowballs, we would make snow angels and snow men, but by far my favorite was the discovery of yellow snow. Once I figured out that even I could make yellow snow, it became one of the great highlights of my year. If you know me very well, you probably know that I'm not exaggerating.

When I was 9 years old, we moved to Switzerland for a year and a half to learn French. I probably don't need to tell you about my snowful activites there; after all, it's Switzerland. Swiss Alps, Saint Bernards, yodeling. It was great. I learned how to ski, I learned how to ice skate... I learned how to do most anything you can do with snow and/or ice.

Then we moved to West Africa. Not much snow there, as you can probably imagine. I became acclimated to the heat, and an 85º morning during the rainy season called for a plethora of clothing layers. After almost eight years of that, I somehow yearned for colder weather. Oh, how I missed miles upon miles of whiteness blanketing the landscape. I yearned for igloos and bright pink snow boots. But alas, such things did not exist in our parts.

I made a vow to myself that I would appreciate every minute of cold winter weather once I returned to America. * Note to self: That was stupid and naïve. Never again shall I make such a vow. *

Today is the 4-year anniversary of my family having returned to the States. I still feel unsettled and restless, but I mostly feel that way during the winter. Granted, Eugene isn't the coldest place in the world, but compared to Africa it can get pretty flippen cold. The weather has been warmer the last few weeks, and I'm starting to feel more at home. More comfortable in my skin, because my skin isn't brittle from frozenness.

My problem is that once my core temperature dips below a certain level, it can take weeks – nay – even months, to bring it back up. This results in seemingly endless spells of misery as the pain of the cold kills me slowly from the outside in. If you've spent much time with me, you've probably heard me scream "OWWWWW!!!!" a time or two in reaction to something cold. That's because the feeling of cold is a painful one to me, not in a typical achey or stingy kind of way, but in a cold kind of way.

I'm sorry, Cold. I tried to like you. I even tried to love you. I missed you when I didn't have you, but now I realize that not having you was the best thing that ever happened to me. I think we should start seeing other temperatures. I'm going with the warm to hot range, you can have the other ones.

Bottom line, cold is overrated. The end.

Best Friends

2006-06-29T13:04:00.000-07:00

It's been a couple of months since I posted anything on here. Yikesville. I'd say sorry, but you probably don't acutally care that much, which is cool with me.

So I've been thinking a lot about friendship lately, mostly because I went from having very few close friends to having the most amazing close friends in the world. At the beginning of Spring term (April), I was a little (a lot) bummed out because everybody seemed to have their special someones. And I'm not just talking about boyfriend/girlfriend special someones – I'm also talking about best friend someones. Everybody had somebody. But not so much for me.

The only best friend I've ever had was Analicia, when my family came back to America for a year when I was in 7th grade. She was Licia Carter and I was Mela Richardson, because we were married to Nick Carter and Kevin Richardson of the Backstreet Boys. We had so much fun together, and my world came crashing down and broke into a million pieces when I had to move back to Africa in August of 1999.

I never had a best friend before Analicia, and I'd never had one since... until Holly came along. Holly and I like to take random roadtrips, because the road is where we became best friends. She's my dancing buddy, my future roommate, and she's the person I call at 2am when something outrageous happens that I can't deal with on my own.

I also have a #2 best friend, Sean Pimp Daddy. I don't remember exactly how we became "#2 best friends," all I remember is that we were in the bathroom at his house on my 21st birthday, and he was shaving his head when we decided to make that each others' title. I didn't even know him that well at the time, but that's what we call each other now. Literally. "Hiiiii, #2 Best Friend..." is how many a phone message will begin. I've never had an actual #2 best friend before, so I guess Sean is unique in that way.

And of course, there's Jenna. She always has the most amazing advice, and she always encourages me in my faith. Without Jenna and Holly holding me accountable and holding me up, I don't know where I would be. Two amazing women of God, and I love them.

Probably the most unexpected person for me to list here is Socorro. She and I were two of the eight summer interns working for Students International last summer. I honestly do not understand how she became one of my best friends. She spent the entire summer irritating me to no end – in all honesty, I would sometimes even sleep in my media office just to have some time away from her. And trust me, it was a two-way street because I annoyed the heck out of her sometimes, too.

Sock and I have less in common than anybody I've ever met in my life. But somehow, she's managed to challenge me in more ways than any other friend ever has, largely because she's frustrated me more than all those other friends combined. We're polar opposites, in the most radical ways possible. Nevertheless, she continues to help me grow and she constantly challenges me in my friendships and in my Christian walk. She's the person that I can't live with, but for some reason I can't live without.

I could write about friendship for hours, but that would get long and boring and I probably wouldn't find a way to make my point very clearly anyway. So I'll finish it up with a MySpace message that Analicia sent me the other day. It seriously almost made me cry, I'm not even kidding. Speaking of crying, I saw the movie Eight Below the other day, and I cried like a baby. My brother gasped, jumped up, and wrote on the kitchen calendar, "Melt cried during movie!"

But anyway, the message from Licia:

Gosh Mela I miss you. I'm feeling down and out and was like hey I wish Mela were here or I was there... lame too bad... I wonder where we'd be if you never left Fresno... who's yard would we be screaming and running through the spinklers in... what alcohol would you buy me???? lol... Yeah we could lay outside and get eaten by skeeters and talk till the sun came up...

Life has really gotten away from me... work work work... I feel that by the time I'm done with school and everything else I won't have time to have life... I think maybe if you were here we'd have the same job and same days off and we'd go out to the beach everyday off and go to school together like before... I miss those days... school together... not sleeping... I'm so old, or at least I feel old.

I wonder if I went over to Oregon how things would be... would we be able to just sit and talk like old times... I could tell you crazy my life has been all the bad and good things... all the pain and tears.... then you could tell me everything back... even though I haven't talked with you in a long time, I think I may just burst. Like a dam. All my thoughts and feelings will come out and won't stop for a while... hmmm... I really should get some sleep... well take care, Mrs. Richardson.......

-Mrs. Carter.

I love my friends. I'm so happy, you don't even know. And it's all because of my friends.

Just Cry

2006-04-12T04:35:00.000-07:00

So... About this time of month, I get all contemplative, in a pessimistic sort of way. I'm not a bitchy PMS'er, I'm more of a find the problems of the world and write about them on the internet kind of PMS'er. And usually, I find absolutely no resolve for said problems. So with that said, I found the latest problem and I am here to tell you all about it.

The general problem is that people don't cry enough.

We see tears as weakness. In fact, we see most raw emotions as weakness. We have to contain ourselves at all times, because God forbid you should start weeping in public. What would people think? Honestly, have you ever seen someone crying in public and thought to yourself, what an idiot? No, at least I haven't. My heart goes out to them and I want to sit down next to them and help them sort through their problems. Or at least listen to their problems and maybe have no relevant advice whatsoever. But at least I could share in their sorrow.

I think part of the reason we have so many shallow relationships in our society is that we don't dare to cry. We can't share what's really going on inside. Or maybe we just don't have time to cry because we're always rushing about doing nothing we'll even remember in a year.

I was thinking about it today, and I don't even know about the struggles of a lot of my close friends. Why? Is it because they're afraid to tell me? Is it because I'm afraid to ask? Is it because they don't know how to approach me? Is it because they don't think I'll listen? Is it because they don't think I'll understand? Or is it because they just never have the opportunity? I don't know.

I'm sure I have friends who have been raped, and I don't even know about it. I'm sure I have friends who have had abortions, and I don't even know about it. I'm sure I have friends who have suffered domestic abuse, and I don't even know about it. I'm sure I have friends who are feeling suicidal, and I don't even know about it. I'm sure I have friends who don't know that I love them as much as I do.

Why doesn't my hurting friend just pick up the phone and call me? All they would have to do is say, "I need to talk to you." and I would be there in four seconds. At the same time, why don't I just pick up the phone and call them? I don't know. I guess my answer is the same as your answer, which is the same as everybody else's answer. I don't know where to start, I don't know what so say, I don't know if I'll offend you, I don't know if you'll still be my friend.

I don't know. All I know is that I'm sick of gicky-sweetness. I'm sick of everyone pretending to be happy 100% of the time when that's not even possible. I'm not telling you that the whole world should mope around and complain all the time, I just think that the surface doesn't need to be made of steel. Maybe make it of of saran-wrap or tin foil so you can take it off easily and share the real you.

Of course, I don't even know how to take my own advice. I guess that's why I'm writing this blog, because I don't know much but I do know that you probably don't know a whole lot either. Or maybe you do, in which case I'd appreciate it if you could enlighten me.

I don't know what I'm getting at. It's 4:30 AM and I'm not even tired. I'm all drugged up on cough syrup and Midol, so I'm feeling very comfortable right now. I think I'll go listen to my dog snore. Oh, Henry.

[ wherever i may roam ]

2006-03-28T23:05:00.000-08:00

I made a website as the final project for my Multimedia Design class this term. I got an A on it, whoopee! So click on the picture below, and you can check it out. There might even be a picture of you in there – a lot of my friends are and don't even know it...

[ wherever i may roam ]

God Forgive Us

2006-03-27T23:45:00.000-08:00

This is an entry from my brother's blog that he wrote a while ago, and I feel compelled to post it on my blog. He wrote it at the end of Elementary Winter Camp at Camp Arrah Wanna, where he is on the program crew and I was a counsellor. This summer, I'm joining him on pro crew, plus I'm gonna teach a hip hop workshop. Haha, how fun does that sound? I'm excited.

Yeah anyway. This is the blog he posted. It's worth reading, otherwise I wouldn't be re-posting it.

God Forgive Us

This morning, as the end of the camp weekend approached, we were walking from the Worship Center to Counselor Rock for a morning campfire. As I walked along with Amie and Jessica, a little girl, probably 9 years old (the age range for our elementary camp is generally 8 to 10), went running ahead of us. As she did, she made this comment: "I gotta lose my weight!"

I felt like someone had hit me in the stomach. Someone very strong.

She was 9 years old and as skinny as bean pole. And already her focus was on her weight. I wondered, as I continued to walk along in disbelief, if she was already doing a variety of diets. Does she look in the mirror in the morning and wish she was skinnier? I felt sick.

What have we done?

It's our fault, you know. We have done this. And by "we," I mean men. It's because men care so much about physical appearance, even though it means so little. Men will fall over themselves and fight each other over a "beautiful" woman with a "nice body," but a woman who doesn't quite meet their standards of outward beauty is fair game for every kind of degradation. I have seen the most worthless, vacuous creatures treated like queens simply because the emptiness of their character was bottled up, what little there was of it, in a "beautiful" body. And I have seen the most amazing people I have ever known effortlessly and thoughtlessly dismissed, without even a second thought, because they weren't up to Hollywood supermodel status. And not only dismissed, but thoroughly degraded and insulted, denied even the basic respect due by all to even the vilest of human beings.

And that's how we get to where we are today. Women—girls, even—think that the only way to get any attention, the only way to be treated like a person, is by attempting to measure up to the sickeningly unhealthy, and often times rather whorish, image of the skin-and-bones, airbrushed stars of the silver screen. Ironic, isn't it? To be perceived with even a hint of respect by so many men, women have to give up all self-respect and serve the unquenchable lust of the male collective. And notice that I say "perceived" with respect, for they are not truly treated with any respect. A woman has ceased to be a person, but has become a mere object whose sole use is to satisfy the perverted cravings of shallow men. But respect was lost so long ago and so far back that so many women don't even know what it is anymore, wouldn't even recognize it if they saw it.

That's the world we live in. Young girls grow up learning to find their own self worth—or lack thereof—not in who they are, or in Who loves them (God), but in a numerical rating system, ranging from 0 to 10, by which they are judged and then tossed aside by men and boys. It's the new Indoctrination of Insecurity.

This shouldn't be happening at all. I know so many absolutely gorgeous young women who can't even see their own beauty because they've learned to see only the "blemishes" and "imperfections"—the words of the world, not mine—that make them human and, in that way, truly beautiful. But like I said, I don't call those blemishes or imperfections, I call that reality. Who wants a fake plastic girl? Well, a lot of guys, unfortunately. But not me; I want a real woman, one whose beauty is her own, not something she puts on in front of the mirror or tries to shed on a treadmill. But I know so many young women who get so down on themselves because they're not "perfect," as though that existed. And all the while I'm thinking, "Are you kidding? I can't take my eyes off of you! No, you're not perfect—and it's truly beautiful." This shouldn't be happening at all, and it breaks my heart whenever I see it. But when I hear those words from the mouth of a 9-year-old girl... I don't even know what to feel anymore.

But it goes beyond even that. It breaks my heart when a girl with such natural beauty hides it under the fake plastic mask that appeals to our fake plastic society. But it breaks my heart even more every time a person goes undiscovered because she is dismissed on outward appearances. Some of the most incredible people I have ever known go unnoticed by much because people only look at outward appearances. People deem them boring, unattractive, and essentially inferior; but these are the people that blow my mind, that leave me in absolute wonder, that show me glimpses of God. And it saddens me that so few ever find them. And it angers me that the world judges them so unfairly based on something so completely unimportant, not to mention fleeting.

But that's the world we live in. Sometimes, the idea that I will one day be a parent scares me. How do I raise a daughter to find her self-worth in who she is, and in who the God who loves her is, in a world that is waiting to objectify her for the casual glance of shallow men? How do I raise a son to learn to see the true beauty that God created, and that we try to hide in favor of plasticized uniformity; who learns to see the beauty within, to see every human being through the eyes of their Creator, who loves them just as they are; who keeps alive the kind of respect for humanity that most have long since forgotten; and who is constantly, daily in awe and wonder at the truly amazing people that go unnoticed by the world? Honestly, I have no idea.

The bottom line, ladies, is that any man whose approval and attention you could gain only by measuring up to a bogus standard of artificial "beauty" is not worth the time. If he cannot appreciate you for the amazing, incredible person that you are, then he is not worth caring about. I know that narrows the field down quite a bit, but I have known a few men who would refuse to objectify you, and would stand speechless in awe of who you are, of the truly beautiful woman that God created, both inside and out. Wait for one of those. As for the rest, don't let them dismiss you; dismiss them first, because their opinion is not worth caring about.

I don't know what else to say. I don't even know if I've said what I want to say very well at all. I just think of that little girl up at camp, and so many like her, and I want to cry.

God created you, and He loves you exactly as you are. Not only that, but He didn't make a mistake with you. And He thinks you are absolutely beautiful! And you are.

The end.

Hip Hop!

2006-03-17T19:08:00.000-08:00

Check it out, this is the video from my hip hop class's performance at Open Showing!

Friendship

2006-03-12T15:45:00.000-08:00

Apparently I need to post something. I don't really have anything to write about, but there are two things that have been on my mind a lot the last couple of weeks: faith and friendship.

Faith and friendship seperately, not faith in friendship, not friendship through faith... just faith, and friendship. The two things that have been bugging me relentlessly. Like little leeches eating at my brain, and neither of them seems to hold any resolve.

But I don't really want to write about faith right now, so I'll tackle friendship.

To a missionary kid who has traveled the world her whole life, friendship is both something that you crave and you fear at the same time. It's hard to always be the new kid - everybody already has their "best friend," leaving no room for me. I did have a best friend once, her name was Analicia and she's still one of the people I love the most even though I haven't even seen her in four years. And therein lies the problem.

To me, true friendship has become something that should be avoided because I always wind up leaving. Granted, I don't live in Africa anymore but because of my upbringing, my deepest feelings toward friendship have been rooted in tears and pain. I think the final blow that sealed my bitterness toward friendship came when I was 14, in 1999. My family had come to the end of our year-long furlough in Fresno, CA and we headed back to Africa. Analicia and I wrote each other letters every single day [sometimes multiple times a day] for a year or so, until the letters tapered off and slowly stopped. I remember spending Y2K by myself on the roof of our house in Africa, writing Analicia a letter and crying. I was also pretty disappointed when the electricity of the entire city didn't shut down, because it would have been ridiculously awesome to watch that happen. But that's beside the point.

What point? I'm not actually really trying to make a point, I don't think. I've been looking through quotes about friendship for the last hour or so and after wading through schloads of cheery, frolickey quotes, I found this one:

"Thy friendship oft has made my heart to ache;
Do be my enemy for friendship's sake."
- William Blake

That's all I've got for now. End of post. No resolve today in Tucktown.

Savin' Up

2006-02-24T16:23:00.000-08:00

So my mother is an avid watcher of the Suze Orman Show. I never thought I'd say this, but I actually found the show useful today. Why? Because she helped me open a savings account. Suze told me that the highest intrest rate is currently at EmigrantDirect.com and, handy dandy enough, I've been saving up for a savings account for a few months now. Saving up for a savings account? Hmm. Yeah.

The general goal is to be able to buy a car that's not from the 80's by this summer. Don't get me wrong, I love my '88 Civic and every last one of her 234,000 miles but, how do I say this without hurting her feelings... Um, yeah, I want to be able to drive outside of Eugene - or even out side of Oregon, gasp! - in confidence. I love the fact that I paid for my car straight up out of my checking account, and I plan to do the same thing with my next car.

I'm excited. I actually have over a thousand dollars (so far) sitting in an account making money for itself. I feel like such a big kid. Yippee!

I have a dream.

2006-02-19T00:41:00.000-08:00

I decided what I want to do with my life. So listen [read] up.

A little background first. Growing up in Africa, I used to work in an orphanage. Every day after school, my mom would pick me up and we'd go out to the orphelina for a few hours. It was the highlight of my life. I had no friends because the girls in middle school were cruel and I didn't fit in. But at the orphanage, as soon as I opened the door dozens of kids would run to me, yelling, "Mama Mélissa!" and bombarding me with hugs. I seriously could not walk for the first five minutes of being there.

I loved the kids there, and they loved me. Those innocent young children had the saddest stories and all I could do to help was play with them, change their diapers, feed them, and hold them. Somehow, that was enough for them. I could tell you about the kids individually for hours but that's not the main point of this blog entry. If you want to hear some of their stories, just ask and I'll talk your head off.

My favorite baby was a little baby girl named Stephanie. She was the light of my life. She still is, and I think about her every day. Well, on my thirteenth birthday, I didn't care about anything except going to the orphanage to see Steph. I didn't care about presents or a party or anything, I just wanted to see my kids. So just like every other day, my mom picked me up from school on April 30th, 1998 and we headed to the orphanage. As soon as I walked in, I knew something was terribly wrong. I greeted all the kids as usual, but when I went to Stephanie's crib, she wasn't there. She wasn't anywhere. When I asked the ladies where she was, they told me that Steph had been adopted that morning. A couple came in, chose her, and left. That's it.

I did my best to keep my composure because I still had to be there for the other kids. I played with them for as long as I could but I couldn't talk because I knew I would start crying. Finally, my mom and I left. I ran to the car and when she got in, she looked over at me to see tears streaming down my face. I remember that we just sat in the parking lot crying for the longest time. I don't remember if my mom was crying with me or not, but that day was the saddest day of my life. My baby was gone, and I didn't even get to say goodbye to her.

After that day, I didn't go back to the orphanage for several months. I couldn't even think about the orphanage without crying. When I finally did go back, it brought the same joy to my life as it had before. Something about those kids is amazing. They have nothing, not even parents, but somehow they have everything.

A couple of months ago, I started thinking about Stephanie again. Well, I always think about her but this time it was nonstop. Whenever my mind wasn't occupied by something else, I was thinking about her. I have no idea why. I haven't seen her since the day before my thirteenth birthday, and I'll probably never see her again. I'll always remember her, but she'll never remember me. It's one of those sweet sorrows in life that can never be changed.

Well, one Friday night in church at Calvary, we were having a contemplative low-key college night service and I started praying about Stephanie. It was then that I realized why she had been on my mind so heavily. I had always felt pain about losing her, and only pain. It was my loss, and I didn't see it any other way.

In that moment with God, I realized something that I had never realized before: Stephanie is eight years old right now and she has a mom and a dad who love her. That may seem evident to you, but it had never ever occured to me. I always thought of her as my baby that I never got to say goodbye to. But I realized that she's not my baby. She's God's baby, and He gave her to waiting parents. I still get teary when I look at pictures of her - you would too if you knew how cute she was. But it took seven and a half years for those tears to turn from tears of sorrow to tears of joy.

So that's my story about Stephanie. But the subject of this post is "I have a dream." Because I do. I finally decided what I want to do with my life.

Of course, I would love to work in an orphanage in a third world country. But I haven't decided yet if I want to live in the third world or not. Maybe that decision depends on who I marry, because it's his decision too.

But if I live in America, I want to live in the country and have a huge house with a lot of land where I can start a kennel. I want lots of dogs and I want to be able to give a home to any stray, wounded, or abandoned animal. In my huge house, I want to take in foster children. Maybe some of them will turn in to adopted children, but I also want to have my own birth children. I want my foster kids to take care of the animals, because animals have amazing healing powers that I can't even begin to comprehend. I want the kids I take in to have the responsibility of keeping the animals alive, and I want the animals to depend on kids who haven't been given a fair shot at life. That's what I want to do. That's my dream. How I'll do it, I don't know. When it will happen, I don't know. How I'll finance it, I don't know. But that's what I want to do.

This is one weekend you definitely want to read about.

2006-01-31T00:19:00.000-08:00

So. You've read my brother's and Josh's blog posts about Middle School Winter Camp this weekend; now it's time for my perspective.

Let me say first of all that I am a hermit at heart and I was incredibly drained after Elementary camp last weekend, so you might be able to imagine how dead I still am from this weekend. But that's getting ahead of myself.

The weekend started off nicely: a fun 3-hour drive up to camp with some awesome tunes and some awesome friends. If you know me at all, you know that if there's music, I'm happy. You also know that if my friends are there, I'm even happier. And to top it all off, my brother was there. Yikes.

Everything went well, activity-wise, on Friday night. We had fun at the pool and I got some amazingly hilarious footage on my camera of Holding Out playing water-basketball [poolsketball]. I'd never really met them before, except the Dave of course, but [not to worry] I was prepared for what I witnessed thanks to my brother. So that was all fun. We got back to camp around midnight and my girls were all in bed with the lights out by 1AM.

That's when the fun started. I couldn't fall asleep. I literally did not get one blink of sleep the en-freakin-tire night. So at 4:52AM, I'm laying there in bed and I started thinking. Why don't I stop whining in my head and do something productive? So I started praying. I prayed for everybody I could think of, even people I had just met that night. I had an amazing time, just me and God in the cabin conversing. All of a sudden, my heart sunk as I realized what God was doing. God was saying to me, Is this what it takes for me and you to have a serious conversation? Do I have to deprive you of sleep for an entire night for you to listen to me and only me? And why the heck did it take you 3 hours and 52 minutes to start talking to me? Of course, I pray regularly and I read my Bible and I walk the walk as best I can, but I realized at that moment that I haven't been completely undistracted and focused on God alone in a long time.

I kept praying, for a long time. It was me and God, chillin' out in the cabin at Arrah Wanna, just havin' a chat. He started telling me things He's been trying to tell me for a long time, but I haven't been listening as closely as I should have. I prayed about everything and for everyone until I came to a screeching halt when one person's face appeared in my mind's eye.

A little over one year ago, I filed charges of attempted date rape against a guy, for an incident that happened in the Fall of 2003. At this point, if you don't already know who he is and what happened, I don't want to tell you over the internet. Ask me in person and I would love to sit down and tell you all about it and to share my heart with you, if you'll share yours with me. Anywho, the image of this person appeared and I stopped. I couldn't keep praying, because I couldn't pray for him. Scenes started flashing through my mind, and I re-visited the day of the trial last February and the pain leading up to it and the pain following it. I started crying, and that's when God started talking to me again. Among other things, I realized that it was the first time I'd cried about that whole ordeal. While it was happening last year, I was so numb to the situation and so determined to get to the end of it and bring him to justice, that I never felt any emotion. I did cry once after the whole process was finished, but only because I knew I should cry, and I cheated in that I started out by making myself think of Keves and Rivka, my dogs that I had to leave in Africa, and then I switched my train of thought once the floodgates were open.

So back to me and God in the cabin, we battled for a long time and he started the process of breaking me down, piece by stubborn piece. I say "started" because I haven't been able to pray for "the guy" yet, or maybe I just don't want to, but God is still working on me. And for any of you who are reading this, now you have something you can pray for me about. So, long story short, it was a powerful night, all while everybody else was sleeping.

Before I knew it, daylight started creeping in the windows and the notorious Snow Disaster Day of Saturday began. If you know me at all, you know that I do not do well if I don't get at least 9 hours of sleep each night. Oy.

My brother and Josh already went into detail about the snow trip disaster, so I'll spare you another recounting of the same situation. I was on the first bus up with the girls that left at 11:30AM, and I was freezing and tired all day while I sat in the lodge in misery. I did my best to be chipper so as not to ruin everybody elses' day but inside, I was low low low. Oh, and did I mention? Due to the fantabulous timing of Middle School Camp, I had horrible cramps all day Friday, Saturday, Sunday, and now Monday. So I wasn't feelin' too hot.

Finally, late in the afternoon, Tim the Awesome Busdriver came back up the mountain with the boys. As soon as I saw the expression on Tim's face, that's when God started talking to me again. Or, should I say, that's when I started listening again. Tim, the man who drove the bus back and forth and back and forth all day long through horrible conditions, had the most joyful expression on his face. I seriously almost cried [again] when I realized how selfish I was being. So right there, I decided to be happy. And I was, genuinely.

Saturday night, we all sang some silly songs and then the guys from Holding Out came up with the idea to play the awesomest song game EVER, which I had never played before. To finish out the night they put on a rockin' concert for us, which was awesome of course.

That night, I slept like a corpse. [I was gonna say, "I slept like a baby," but when you think about it, babies don't sleep through the night. They scream and cry and deprive their parents of sleep. A corpse, on the other hand, does not wake up.] Sunday morning, we had an amazing worship time and then we packed up for the drive home. We stopped in Salem for a few hours for JESSICA'S BIRTHDAY PAR-TAY!!!!! and then continued on our merry drive down I-5.

Until we ran out of gas.

Around 7pm, two exits before Albany, the van started sputtering and eventually, we coasted to a halt. While my brother hitchhiked his way to a nearby gas station with come awesome Asians who pulled over for us, Josh, Anna, and I waited in the van. We took some photos made some videos to document the situation, all of which can be seen at DevilishDuck.com.

The plot thickened when Anna and I decided that we really needed to poop. Of course, having grown up in Africa, I'll do most anything. So I took the trash can that Mrs. Fish [from whom we borrowed the van] keeps in the vehicle at all times, and Anna and I stepped outside the van to take care of business. She took pictures, while I pooped in the trash can. It was quite a poop, too, nothing small, and I felt very relieved to have it out of me.

Until a State Trooper pulled up behind the van, lights flashing.

Holy shhhheeeeeetttttttt!!!!! I pulled up my pants as quickly as I could while Anna blocked me from the glare of the Trooper's prying headlights. While I put the trash can [filled with my crap] in the van and tied it off, Josh got out of the van and started talking to the Trooper. At the same time, Anna was laughing so hard that she actually made herself puke. "Is she okay?" asked the State Trooper, "Because she looks like she's puking." Uhhhhh... "No, um, I think she's alright..." and I explained our situation. Soon enough, we were all laughing again and the State Trooper bade us farewell and went on his way.

While Josh and Anna got back in the van, I found a roll of Charmin and was finally able to complete my previous task by wiping. I spare you no details, because I have no shame. Just before my brother finally got back with some gas, I dumped the trash bag in a nearby field. The only other thing in the bag [besides my poop] was the leftover devotional papers from that weekend. Ironic, I think.

So anyway, all things combined, it was an unforgettable weekend. If I forgot anything, I'll probably update this post tomorrow or Wednesday with links for pictures, people, and related blogs. There are actually pictures of me on the trash can crapping, but those pictures aren't available yet [HINT-ANNA-HINT]. So check back later. I'm going to bed.

50 Things You [Don't] Care About

2006-01-26T22:50:00.000-08:00

[1] I used to hate nicknames as a kid, but then I realized that people only take the time to give you a nickname if they care about you.

[2] In high school, my nickname was Melt. Now, people call me Tuck, Tuckster, Tuggles, Tucktown, Melly, Lisserfiss, and/or good 'ole Mel. You can call me whatever you want.

[3] I'm just another kid from Israel, Africa, Switzerland, California, and/or Oregon who doesn't know where she belongs or how she's getting there or how she'll know "there" when she sees it.

[4] I'm afraid of commitment, but not in the typical way. Most of my life, the friends I've loved the most have been taken away from me whenever my family moved to a different country. I'm afraid that will happen again, even though I know it won't if I don't let it.

[5] I love animals, because I don't have to hold up a conversation with them.

[6] I love yellow roses because they stand for friendship, and without friendships I'm all alone in the world.

[7] I don't mind getting lost, because I like the feeling of uncertainty and I like the challenge of finding myself again.

[8] I trust easily, perhaps too easily, but underneath I guard myself, perhaps too much.

[9] My thoughts are always clearest when my vision is blurred with tears.

[10] I have friends everywhere, and I miss them so much, and I think about them all the time, but I never pick up the phone to call them because I'm afraid I won't know what to say.

[11] I don't like to be the center of attention. I'd rather have the person in the spotlight looking at me for their moral support because they know I'll always be by their side.

[12] I don't truly express myself a lot, because I'm always waiting for the perfect moment. Someday I'll realize that the perfect moment doesn't occur very often.

[13] I'd do anything for someone who needs my help, but I hate it when people go out of their way for me.

[14] I stand very firmly in my beliefs. I'm a Christian, and God is my beginning, my end, and everything in my inbetween.

[15] Sometimes I pull away from people I love, but only because I'm afraid they'll push me away.

[16] I love music, I love singing, and I don't care what people think.

[17] I love the rain, because it says everything I can never say in a way that I'll never be able to imitate.

These next ones, I stole from my brother's profile but since he stole the idea from me, I don't feel guilty. Besides, what's he gonna do about it? I'm his little sister; I can do nothing wrong.

[18] I am an exile and a refugee, and my home is with those who have taken my heart with them.

[19] I am a vagabond, a traveler; but one day, for the right person, I just might stay.

[20] I am a mystery to all, and few have ever known me.

[21] I have been a friend to many, but I have had very few friends.

[22] I tend to take on the expressions and mannerisms of those I spend a lot of time with, but my thoughts are all my own.

[23] I am an idealist, and while I realize that the world will never live up to my standards, that reality doesn't keep me from trying to live my own life according to those ideals.

[24] I am a quiet person, until I deem something worth saying.

[25] I am old fashioned in most ways.

[26] I'd much rather chase the entire night away with quiet conversation.

[27] I'm fairly shy, but only until I know you.

[28] But more than anything, I am a broken [woman] transformed by the amazing grace of God, through Jesus Christ, and made whole again.

[29] I am nothing but for Christ, who lives in me.

Now, back to ones written by me...

[30] My dog, Keves Ariel, died recently and I cried for an entire day (nonstop) when I found out.

[31] I've never had good experiences with people named Greg. It's weird.

[32] Tillamook Mudslide is the best ice creme ever made. But it can only be eaten straight out of the containter.

[33] I have a cowlick on the back of my head, and it's the exact same cowlick that my great-grandma, grandma, and aunt all have.

[34] I can't stand electric toothbrushes. They disrupt my usual tooth-brushing thinking time.

[35] I don't want to be rich, ever.

[36] It could take me years to remember the color of your eyes, but I'll never forget a smile.

[37] When I grow up I want to have lots of dogs, maybe even a kennel.

[38] My first love was Christian Bale in Newsies.

[39] I hated cranberry juice as a kid, now I can't imagine life without it.

[40] Cranberry sauce is my favorite part of Thanksgiving and Christmas.

[41] I never ever leave sporting events early, no matter how far behind my team is.

[42] Guys in Texas like girls with curves, and they don't hide it. After having lived in Texas for 3 weeks, I can now expertly divulge this information.

[43] I love collared shirts.

[44] I love pinstriped suits.

[45] I hate pretentious rich people.

[46] I refuse to use those paper toilet seat cover things. They make me feel like a spoiled American, which is what I strive toward not being.

[47] Dirt and germs are our friends. They build your immune system.

[48] Stereotypes exist because people fit them.

[49] I don't like makeup.

[50] I love going through automatic car washes. Inside a car, of course.

Baggage.

2006-01-24T01:28:00.000-08:00

First of all, I got the afore mentioned tattoo but I'll address that at a later date. It won't look up to par for a couple more weeks, because it just finished peeling and it's now very faded. I'll post pictures when it's fully healed.

But that's off topic.

Today has been one of deep thoughts, which has become somewhat the norm. I used to be able to just do nothing and not have my mind swirling, but that's not so anymore. Sometimes, I find myself longing for earlier days and sometimes, I wish I could just skip ahead to the future where everything will be purrfect but then I snap back to reality [oh, there goes gravity].

I have many opinions, some of which people agree with, some of which people don't, some of which people aren't sure about. The topic of today's post is one that people aren't generally sure about.

One of my favorite sayings that applies in most any situation is, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger." Honest to God, and I've been through and witnessed a lot of stuff during my mere 20 years on this earth, that one is always true. You can give me any situation imaginable, and I'll show you how you can work it to your advantage.

My next theory about life is one that I came up with all on my own, although I doubt that it's an original piece of thought. "Baggage is what makes us interesting."

I've said that before in passing to a few of my friends and I've always gotten the same general response. An initial "Are you crazy? Who ever had that idea?" followed by a "Hmm." And then some silence while they ponder. But it's true. Think about it [think, think about it].

You always hear people say, "Oh, but so-and-so has so much baggage..." with a little bit of dismay in their voice, as if to say that if so-and-so didn't have so much baggage, they would be more desirable as a person. I've had friends who had no baggage and I've had friends who had so much baggage that they could hardly stand on their own. Sure, it can be draining to be their crutch all the time but that's only the case if the baggage-laden person in question is so busy wallowing in self-pity that they can't see the bright side of things. All you have to do is abide by my first saying, and you'll realize that any baggage you have will make you a stronger person if only you let it.

Essentially, the idea is this. Shit happens in life to everybody. One person may get pooped on more than the person next to them but it doesn't mean you were standing in the wrong place at the wrong time. You should feel blessed to have been pooped on and you should take your poop and do two things with it: 1) learn from your poopty experience, and 2) share your wisdom about said poop with every person to whom your advice may be helpful.

So in the end, I decided that I don't want to skip ahead because it's our experiences in life that make us who we are. I don't want to miss a thing, even if there isn't anything super-fabulous happening, because without today I will never get to tomorrow. And even if I could, it would be void and meaningless because I wouldn't be able to put it in the context of my life.

I'm getting tatted.

2006-01-11T23:38:00.000-08:00

GASP!! WHAATT???!!

My brother and I are getting tattoos, probably this week. We've been planning it for a long time and now we're finally gonna do it.

So. I've spent the last couple of years debating whether I really want to have something permanently inked on my body. That's the first thing everybody says when you say you're getting a tattoo. "Are you sure? A tattoo is permanent." Yes, I know that, dipstick. Thank you for pointing it out.

Because of the everlasting nature of a tattoo, it's definitely not something to jump into. So, there are three general questions I've been pondering for the last couple of years.

[1] Do you really want to be an old lady and have tattoos? People always say that like it's a bad thing. My final conclusion is this: If I saw a wrinkly old lady walking down the street with a couple of subtle tattoos, I'd be like, "Sweet! That's one rockin' granny." And I'd probably want to hear her life story because it would probably be pretty interesting.

[2] But still... Are you sure you want to have something permanently inked on your body? If my body was permanent, then maybe or maybe not – I don't know. But I believe in something higher than this life on Earth and as such, my earthly body is only temporary. Within the next 80 years (hopefully), I'll leave this world and my mortal life on earth will have been but a blink in my history. While I'm here, I have but one purpose and that is to glorify my maker. So that brings me to my next question.

[3] Of all the possible markings I could put on my body, what will I choose?

Most people, when they get tattoos, choose something that defines them. Of everything that defines me, Melissa Faith Tucker, the one thing that stands far above the rest is my faith. Above everything else, I am a Christian. God is my beginning, my end, and He is everything in my inbetween. I believe in letting my actions speak louder than my words, and whether or not I preach the living daylights out of somebody, whether or not I even mention my faith to them using words, I want them to know that I'm a Christian.

In the early church, under the reign of the Roman Empire, Christians were often persecuted because of their faith. You can look it up for yourself if you want to know the grimy details, but the short story is it wasn't until around 300 A.D., under the reign of Constantine, that Christians were no longer persecuted for their faith. However, during the years of tremendous persecution before Constantine, Christians were afraid to speak of their faith, and understandably so.

During this time, in order to prevent unnecessary capture and persecution, Christians had secret codes they would use as a means of identifying or acknowledging a fellow believer in Christ without any verbal communication being exchanged. They would often draw a curved line in the dirt, mud, sand, or on the walls of caves and if the other person was a Christian, that person would draw the second curved line, creating the shape of a fish. By doing this, they were secretly exchanging a message that they were fellow believers of Christ and that it was safe to talk about their faith without the fear of being turned in. And if the person wasn't a Christian, it would simply look like a doodle in the sand.

We live in a country that grants us the freedom to believe (or not believe) anything we want, without fear of persecution. However, we don't always take advantage of our freedom to share the Word of God in our everyday lives. So, my tattoo is pretty much my modern day equivalent of doodling a fish in the sand upon meeting someone.

The tattoo I'm going to get is a small ichthus on the inner wrist of my right hand, just below my thumb. This is because in our culture, it's customary to shake the right hand of a person when you meet them. I want every person whose hand I shake for the rest of my life to know that I'm a Christian. I want them to know right off the bat, without any verbal communication being exchanged. I want every person I meet for the rest of my life on this earth, Christian or non-Christian, to know about my faith without the pressure of having to respond to it. My whole purpose on this earth is to glorify God and to be a fisher of men, and I don't care who knows it.

So, that's the general idea behind my tattoo. I'm sure I'll elaborate more in coming days, weeks, months, years, decades... Until then, PEACE OUT!!

One Prairie Outpost

2006-01-05T21:00:00.000-08:00

One Prairie Outpost by Carbon Leaf

Not been here since I was a boy,
The sky unwrapped, the world my toy;
A movie reel a million miles long
On and on…

Scene after scene passes by my life,
The window’s a wound; the road is a knife.
The irony, ask me, "Where have you been?"
I don’t know, I don’t know,
Because I don’t know where to begin.

Too much to do, too much to see;
Pictures to take, people to meet.
When there’s so much space in between,
It overwhelms me.

Scene after scene passes by my life,
The window’s a wound and the road is a knife.
The irony, ask me, "Where have you been?"
I don’t know, I don’t know,
Because I don’t know where to begin.

Not been here since I was a boy,
Now a heart full of fear and a mask of painted joy.
So much for these youthful eyes to see;
So much for peace and tranquility.

One Prairie Outpost, you are how I feel:
Alone in a flatland 'tween the dream and the real.
The irony, ask me, "Where have you been?"
I don’t know, I don’t know,
Because I don’t know where to begin.

I don't know where to begin.

MySpace

2006-01-04T16:11:00.000-08:00

I've succumed.

I've been on MySpace for a while, but only to look at other peoples' pictures. You know you've done it too, so chutup. Well, I've decided to actually use my MySpace. MySpace is still sketchy, but everybody else does it so I said to myself, "Why don't I?" And so I am.

However, if I don't know you, I won't accept you as a friend. That's right, you'll be denied. And I won't feel bad about it. Why? Because I don't know you and I don't care if you feel rejected. But if I do know you, you can be my friend.

What are you waiting for?? Go to MySpace already!

Greetings...

2005-12-28T19:19:00.001-08:00

To my Democrat friends:

Please accept with no obligation, implied or implicit, my best wishes for an environmentally conscious, socially responsible, low-stress, non-addictive, gender-neutral celebration of the winter solstice holiday, practiced within the most enjoyable traditions of the religious persuasion of your choice, or secular practices of your choice, with respect for the religious/secular persuasion and/or traditions of others, or their choice not to practice religious or secular traditions at all.

I also wish you a fiscally successful, personally fulfilling and medically uncomplicated recognition of the onset of the generally accepted calendar year 2006, but not without due respect for the calendars of choice of other cultures whose contributions to society have helped make America great. Not to imply that America is necessarily greater than any other country nor the only America in the Western Hemisphere. And without regard to the race, creed, color, age, physical ability, religious faith or sexual preference of the wishee.

By accepting these greetings you are accepting these terms. This greeting is subject to clarification or withdrawal. It is freely transferable with no alteration to the original greeting. It implies no promise by the wisher to actually implement any of the wishes for herself or himself or others, and is void where prohibited by law and is revocable at the sole discretion of the wisher. This wish is warranted to perform as expected within the usual application of good tidings for a period of one year or until the issuance of a subsequent holiday greeting, whichever comes first, and warranty is limited to replacement of this wish or issuance of a new wish at the sole discretion of the wisher.

To my Republican friends:

Here's wishing all of you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

Deep in the heart of Texas!

2005-12-21T21:05:00.000-08:00

Hello from Kerrville, Texas. My grandparents moved here this summer from Fresno, California, where they've lived since my dad was a kid. So they offered to fly me out as my Christmas present this year and there was no way I was turning down that offer. Seriously, I'm not kidding when I tell you that it was 70º out yesterday afternoon. It's 45º right now (almost midnight) but the sky is clear as can be and I can see every single star twinkling up in the heavens. Granted, it's a little less green than Eugene, and I'm still getting used to that, but I'm soo happy to get away from the freezing coldness of Oregon.

I'll write more later about some things I've been pondering lately, but let me just tell you about one of my current dilemmas. See, I have this incredible knack for getting myself into sticky icky situations that offer no good outcome of any sort. Check this one out.

So my grandparents have caught on that I'm pretty up on technology. Most people my age are, but they just don't know that. I'll let them think I'm a genius. But anyway, the other day I burned a CD for them of some of Bing Crosby's Christmas music... baaaaad move, kiddo. Next thing I know, my grandma's spouting off all these albums she wants me to download for her. If you knew my grandma, you would know that you canNOT say "no" to her. She simply won't accept it. She'll just say, "Yes, you can do it, and you will. Now get on with it." She's never wrong, and her answer is always the only answer.

So, like a good lil granddaughter, I just nodded and smiled with no real intention of ever downloading all the music she was commanding me to dig up for her. Sure enough, the tactic worked and she forgot about all those albums... well, all except for one of them. And wouldn't it be just my luck, that one album happens to be a Kenny Rogers Christmas album. At first, I just kept nodding and smiling but I'm telling you, she's not letting this one go. She seriously asks me at least five times a day, "Have you gotten that album for me yet?????????"

So this is my dilemma. I can either download the stinking album and listen to it nonstop for the next three weeks or I can take an earful from my grandma every two seconds for the next three weeks. I'm not sure yet which one is worse.

Marriage.

2005-12-11T01:26:00.000-08:00

"Mawage. Mawage is wot bwings us togeder tooday. Mawage, that bwessed awangement, that dweam wifin a dweam... And wuv, twue wuv, will fowow you foweva... So tweasure your wuv." I never fully appreciated The Princess Bride as much as... well, everybody, but i have to say that the "Mawage" scene is pretty good. But that's off topic.

I was thinking about marriage the other day as I sat, confounded and deeply sorrowful about Nick and Jessica's recent split. As I sat, I thought to myself, "Why do they bother to get married anymore anyway?" And by "they" I'm referring to non-Christians who don't believe in the sanctity and holiness of marriage. Think about it (think think about it).

Today at the annual company Christmas party, I had the chance to catch up with an old co-worker whom I haven't seen in quite a while. She just got married in September and I hadn't seen her since June-ish. Of course, the first question out of my mouth was, "So how's married life??" I asked this in a girly gossip tone to where it could easily be interpreted as "Seriously, tell me all about it, I'm so excited for you!!"

Her answer? "Umm... well it's not really different than before. We've been together for six years so there's nothing really different at all, it's exactly the same as it was before." "So there's nothing different, at all?" I prodded. That's when she spilled the beans: "Well, I guess we have a joint savings account now."

Lame. Or gaids, if you're privy enough to know what that means. So, I started wondering to myself, what's the point of them getting married if it didn't change a thing? Obviously they weren't saving themselves for marriage; they moved in together three years ago. And from knowing her, I know that she doesn't have any religious beliefs, therfore she wasn't aiming for the sacred union between two souls thing. So why'd they bother to get married? A cultural norm? I don't know.

And divorce. It's not even a bad word anymore, it's just kindof a normal thing that happens whenever a married couple has "irreconcilable differences." Today's secular society takes divorce very lightly, despite the fact that it's quite a hassle to go through. Lawyers, assets, custody, visitation rights, more lawyers = expensive, yuck. You'd think they'd figure out that they could avoid the hassle of divorce if they just skipped the marriage part. Living together is essentially the same as being married if you take out the spiritual elements. So why do they bother to get married?

You might say, "For the kids." Well, I would say that it's pretty hard for a kid to go through a divorce. Spare them. "Tax benefits." Hey I know, you can set the money aside that you save on taxes, and you can put that toward the divorce fund.

Or, you could say... "I'm gay, and I want the same rights as straight people." Why the heck would you want to be married to your same-sex significant other? Marriage is what straight people do, and homosexuals are all about pushing the envelope and showing how it's okay to be different. So why do they want to be the same as straight people all of a sudden? I don't know. If they had any kind of a consistent thinking mechanism, they would create something new and radical, like Gayrriage... they can even use that name if they want to, I don't mind. Or maybe they could come up with a better name.

So I'm back to my original question: Why do they bother to get married anymore anyway? And I still don't know the answer. So yeah.

This boot is killin' me.

2005-12-09T00:41:00.000-08:00

This summer when I was in the Dominican Republic, I hurt my foot. I don't know how, but one morning I woke up and I could barely walk it hurt so bad. But alas, it was Fourth of July weekend and we were at the beach in Sosua, so I decided to suck it up and deal. Pretty much for the rest of the summer, it killed to walk anywhere. In August, when I got my appendix taken out while still in the Dominican, I was off my feet for several days so it healed a little and it didn't hurt quite as bad anymore.

Well, a couple of weeks ago it started killing again (as opposed to the regular dull pain) so I finally went to get it checked out. Long story short, I wound up getting an incomplete in my hip hop class and I'll finish the class next term. They x-rayed my foot and, of course, the x-rays were inconclusive. So it's a probable stress fracture, possible strain. For a stress fracture, I have to wear the boot for 12 weeks. For a strain, only 4 or 5 weeks. Luckily, I already had the boot from a previous injury a couple of years ago.

I don't really hobble anymore because between this and the amount of time I spent wearing the boot a couple years ago, I've become extremely skilled at walking in it. The only pain is driving. The first day I put the boot back on a few weeks ago, I decided to try driving with it on. Hah. Seriously, I thought I was gonna die all the way to work. By its very nature, the boot completely immobilizes your ankle, among other things. I never realized how key the ankle was in driving, expecially a car with manual trasmission. My left foot was busy with the clutch so my poor booted right foot was left trying to work the gas and the brakes. Trust me on this one, when you're wearing a mother boot, it's very hard to tell if your foot is on the break or the gas... or both. Or neither. So now when I drive, I have to take the boot on and off which is quite a hassle, because there's about a zillion velcro straps to fiddle with (refer to the picture above).

But, at least my foot is feeling better. And as for everything else since my last post over a month ago, life is pretty good. I'm done with school for the term and in about a week, I'm off to Texas to visit my grandparents until January 7th. I cannot wait for warmer weather.

Insomnia

2005-11-04T03:23:00.000-08:00

I can block out light, but I can't block out darkness. Darkness is what keeps me awake.

I heard once that the average time it takes for a person to fall asleep is seven minutes. If that's true, the rest of you must fall asleep in milliseconds because people like me bring the average waaay up. Here I am, three and a half hours after I turned out the lights, and I'm more awake than I was an hour before I hit the sack. What's up with that.

All I want is to fall asleep before it's time to wake up.

P.S. You can now look at some of my pictures here or by clicking on the "My Pictures!" link on the sidebar.

Biggest Forehead

2005-10-26T16:50:00.001-07:00

I'm not completely sure why, but I laughed for the longest time when I saw this. It's hilarious in an unhilarious kind of way, which is my favorite.

On a different note, I'm reading a book called Under the Banner of Heaven by Jon Krakauer. It's about Mormons and Mormon Fundamentalists and the likes. It's pretty much the most fascinating book I've read in a long time. It's gotten to the point where I had a dream last night about incestuous polygamists. Yikes.

But anyway, I highly reccomend Under the Banner of Heaven. Good book. Read it.

Trends, trends, trends...

2005-10-15T21:52:00.000-07:00

Somebody asked me recently why I think Livestrong bracelets are stupid. I'm about to tell you, so listen (read) carefully.

I love Lance Armstrong. I think he's awesome. I always TiVo specials about him, I watch the Tour de France and root for him, yadda yadda. Just like everybody else, I think it's amazing how he overcame cancer and came back to win seven consecutive Tours. A lot of people admire Lance, especially athletes. He's a cool guy.

So in case you live on Mars, Lance is the one who started the whole Livestrong craze. And I call it a craze because that's exactly what it is. Everybody wears the yellow bracelet, which isn't a bad thing in theory - the Livestrong bracelet stands for the fight against cancer, which is definitely a good cause. Proceeds from the bracelets (and other Livestrong products) go to cancer research, and you never know if you're gonna be the next person depending on the funding of said research.

A year or so ago, I started seeing some people wearing these yellow bracelets, which at first didn't really strike me as odd until I realized that everybody and their mother's dog was suddenly wearing one. Once I figured that out, it took me a couple of days to catch a glimpse of what was written/engraved on the bracelet. ...Livestrong? So I asked somebody who was wearing one. "What's Livestrong?" Their reply: "Uhh.. living... strongly...?" Oh, right, because that makes sense. Who doesn't want to live strongly? So why would you make a bracelet craze for something so utterly not unique? I asked several other people, and their responses were pretty much the same.

So I googled it. And it turns out that Livestrong wristbands represent unity in the battle against cancer and hope for all those who are living with cancer. Cool... if only the dude wearing the wristband knew that.

Different item, same principle: promise rings. It's a ring that girls (sometimes guys even) wear on their ring finger to symbolize that they're waiting until marriage to have sex. Mostly worn by Christians, but Christians aren't immune to the craze-following mindset.

Promise rings turned into a trend for a reason. They stood for something good, something pure, and people figured they could make some money off of a ring that says "True Love Waits" on it. It started as something that you wore because you believed strongly in what it represented, but then it became a trend and it lost something. Girls started wearing them because their friends were wearing them, and soon enough Christian girls were more or less expected to wear a promise ring.

I wear a ring on my left ring finger that says "Faith" on it; I can't even tell you how many times people have said, "Is that your promise ring?" No, it's my middle name. I don't wear a promise ring. "Why?" Because promise rings are next to meaningless now that everybody wears them. I don't even want to think about how many of my promise-ring-friends wound up not keeping that promise.

WWJD bracelets. Same principle as the promise ring, except that the WWJD craze from the late 90's has passed now. That's why I wear a WWJD bracelet, because it stands for something good and it has regained its dignity, per se, now that it's not a trend anymore. The only people who wear them nowadays are people who truly want to live their lives in a Godly way, as a living testament to Him.

My conclusion? People are like sheep. They follow each other, even if they have no idea what they're doing. They want to blend in, because they think they'll be accepted if they do. Maybe they will be, but I wouldn't count on it. Think for yourself, and if you wear a Livestrong bracelet, make sure you know what it means besides "Living.. uhh... strong."

Assisted Suicide

2005-10-09T01:54:00.000-07:00

Here in good ole' North America, committing or attemting to commit suicide is no longer a criminal offense. However, helping a person commit suicide is a criminal act... unless you're a physician in Oregon. There's been a lot of debate recently about Physician Assisted Suicide, or Death with Dignity if that's what you want to call it. Of course, like most things, I have an opinion on the matter.

Let me start by saying that assisted suicide is a very slippery issue and both sides have some very valid points. We all know that I'm pro-life when it comes to unborn babies, mainly because abortion is murder. Ronald Reagan once said, "Abortion is advocated only by persons who have themselves been born." Of course the question is, once a person has been born, where should the next line be drawn with regards to their own personal will to live/die?

In case you wonder where I'm coming from, and why I have such strong opinions on issues such as these, here's a little background.

I'd say that I've seen my share of the world and real world issues in the short amount of time I've been on this earth. By the time I was 11 years old, I had lived in seven countries on four continents. I spoke two languages fluently, and I had lived through a civil war in Africa where my family lost everything and we had to be evacuated from our house in a tank in the middle of the night. Before we were evacuated, among other things, a hand grenade was thrown just outside my bedroom window – it was defective and didn't go off, otherwise I wouldn't be alive to tell you about it. Just hours after our evacuation, rebels jumped the walls of our compound with machetes, looking for the white people so they could cut off our heads, literally. I then continued to live in Africa (in yet another country) until I was 17.

All this to say, I'm not stupid. I didn't grow up in podunk Eugene, where all the liberals are obsessed with diversity yet, oddly enough, they live in a town mostly populated by middle class white people. I've seen more war, famine, disease, poverty, not to mention diversity, than they'll ever see in their lifetime. That is, all of them combined.

Now, back to the issue at hand...

Throughout most of the history of mankind, people had no choice but to allow disease to take its course. You got cancer, you died of it. End of story, no pun intended. You probably didn't even know you had cancer, you just knew that you were dying. However, modern medicine has come a long way in the last few decades. Not only can we diagnose sicknesses and diseases, we can also cure some of them. Cancer patients can go through chemotherapy and have a chance of overcoming the disease. However, some treatments only delay the inevitable, like with AIDS.

Some people, however, don't want to go through chemotherapy or whatever treatment options they have. Others have such slim chances of survival that treatment is a mere shot in the dark. Still others don't even have any viable treatment options. In the more severe cases, I can understand the lack of eagerness to undergo invasive surgeries or agonizing treatments such as chemo. Not to mention the financial burden of prolonged and potentially ineffective treatment.

To these people, I say, God bless you and your decision. Every person has the right to refuse treatment, just like every person has the right to sign a DNR (Do Not Resuscitate). However, when you decide to cut short the natural course of life, that's where I draw the line. You can refuse to let your doctor treat you but you can't ask your doctor to please kill you. Not in my book.

My general conclusion is this. I've seen firsthand people dying on the streets in third world countries. Never once did I think to myself, "Why am I carrying around a Bible, or anything else for that matter, when I could be toting a breifcase full of lethal injections?"

Eugene Drivers Suck

2005-10-05T01:14:00.000-07:00

We all know that Eugene drivers are pretty much the worst drivers in the entire world.

They drive the exact speed limit, if not below – they're the people we vehemently call Speedlimiters. They take turns at about two miles per hour, while I'm sitting behind them being forced to shift into first gear so I can make it up a hill that I usually take in thrid gear. They drive their LAVs (Lesbian Assault Vehicles / Subaru Outbacks) like they're the coolest thing ever, with their outdated Kerry-Edwards bumper stickers that do nothing but scream "DEFEATED!!"

There's one Eugene-driver thing that ticks me off more than all of the others combined. Eugene drivers absolutely refuse to pull into the intersection when yielding to oncoming traffic in a left-turn lane. They don't understand that the intersection is there for a reason: for the first dude to pull out so the dude behind him can get his nose into the intersection, allowing at least two cars to get through while the light is green/yellow.

Allow me to illustrate.

There's this one intersection at Hilyard & 24th that can be especially annoying because there's a lot of traffic and it's hard to turn left in general. The kicker? On that corner is one of Eugene's most popular all-natural food stores. As a result, half the people using that particular left turn lane are burnt out hippies who lost at least half of their brain to weed and LSD in the 60's and 70's. They're not the brightest people in the world.

So yesterday, I was driving home from school and I pulled into the left turn lane just as the light was turning red, joyously thinking to myeslf, "Yesssss, there's only one car in front of me!" In time, the light turned green and, of course, the girl in front of me didn't pull out into the intersection. I was a little perturbed but hey, this is Eugene. So I sat patiently with my left foot slightly releasing the clutch so I could be fully prepared when the turning moment came. ...It didn't come. The light turned red and Airhead in front of me was still sitting there safely behind the crosswalk line as if we hadn't just sat through an entire light cycle.

We waited a few minutes, until our turn came around again. The car in front of me started inching forward and I thought to myself, "Woah, she's pulling out!!" But no. It was only a couple of inches. You can imagine what happened next, after she didn't pull out into the intersecton: the light turned red. Again. And again. By the fourth time, I was getting really pissed off and, trust me, she knew it. Mind you, this entire time there are cars piling up behind us so when the light turned green again, I started making huge motions for her to "PULL OUT" and guess what? She did. And guess what else? FOUR cars got through on that light after she finally moved her butt out into the intersection.

Needless to say, I didn't want to stare at her bumper for a second longer so I sped up and passed her. As I was passing her, I looked over at her with my best death glare only to find her boppin' along behind her steering wheel, probably thinking to herself, "Welp, that was fun!"

My general conclusion for the day: People are stupid. A person may (or may not) be smart but when you put 'em all together, people are just stupid. And Eugene drivers are the stupidest of them all.

The Story of My [Former] Mouse Friends

2005-10-01T12:14:00.000-07:00

The other day, my mom found two dead mice and one live mouse in a vase under the sink at my parents' house (incedentally my house too right now). She alerted my dad, who took the vase out from under the sink only to find that the live mouse was actually eating his dead mouse companions. They had starved to death, and he was eating them as a last resort to survival.

My dad's first inclination was to let the live mouse out into the forest in our "backyard" – I mean, heck, the poor lil guy had already been through enough, right? No. My mom insisted that my dad fill the vase with water and drown the live mouse. So he did. And the lil rascal swam around and around in the vase of death, until there was no more swimming left in him. He let go of the little sliver of life he had clung to, even while he was forced to eat his lil mouse friends.

That's my story for the day. I threw a fit when I found out about it. But my mom insisted that a watery death is not a bad way to die, that the mouse was busy thinking about swimming and had no time to think about dying. Oh yeah... if he wasn't thinking about dying then why did he resort to eating his lil buddies? And why did he swim until he could no more? And not to mention, my mom is freaked out of a watery death. The very idea terrifies her.

So I said to my mom, "If a watery death is a better way to die, then why does the exterminator use poison to kill mice and other critters?" Her response: "Because the exterminator is a busy man, and he doesn't have time to fill up a bunch of little containers with water."

The Bridge Builder

2005-09-27T01:27:00.000-07:00

New term, new projects for my Multimedia Design class. We're doing a photo journal of sorts, and this poem inspired me tonight while I was pondering the subject matter of my term project. Tomorrow I'm gonna see if I can use the actual poem in my project, that would be really sweet.

Okay hold on, I was doing something just now... Oh right, I was sleeping when the inspiration hit me and I had to get up to research it and find the poem. Now I'm never gonna fall asleep because I'm gonna be coming up with all these radical ideas in my head. Yeah, just read the poem already.

The Bridge Builder

An old man, going a lone highway,
Came, at the evening, cold and gray,
To a chasm, vast, and deep, and wide,
Through which was flowing a sullen tide.

The old man crossed in the twilight dim;
The sullen stream had no fears for him;
But he turned, when safe on the other side,
And built a bridge to span the tide.

"Old man," said a fellow pilgrim near,
"You are wasting strength with building here;
Your journey will end with the ending day;
You never again must pass this way;
You have crossed the chasm, deep and wide -
Why build you a bridge at the eventide?"

The builder lifted his old gray head:
"Good friend, in the path I have come," he said,
"There followeth after me today,
A youth, whose feet must pass this way.

This chasm that has been naught to me,
To that fair-haired youth may a pitfall be.
He, too, must cross in the twilight dim;
Good friend, I am building the bridge for him."

– Will Allen Dromgoole

Who Am I? Why Am I Here?

2005-09-14T01:00:00.000-07:00

I was feeling pensive tonight so made a list of stuff about me, in case you wondered.

• In high school, my nickname was Melt. Now, most people call me Tuck. You can call me whatever you want.

• I'm just another kid from Africa (or wherever) who doesn't know where she belongs or how she's getting there or how she'll know "there" when she sees it.

• I'm afraid of commitment, but not in the typical way. Most of my life, the friends I've loved the most have been taken away from me whenever my family moved to a different country. I'm afraid that will happen again, even though I know it won't if I don't let it.

• I love animals, because I don't have to hold up a conversation with them.

• I love yellow roses because they stand for friendship, and without friendships I'm all alone in the world.

• I don't mind getting lost, because I like the feeling of uncertainty and I like the challenge of finding myself again.

• I trust easily, perhaps too easily, but underneath I guard myself, perhaps too much.

• My thoughts are always clearest when my vision is blurred with tears.

• I have friends everywhere, and I miss them so much, and I think about them all the time, but I never pick up the phone to call them because I'm afraid I won't know what to say.

• I used to hate nicknames as a kid, but then I realized that people only take the time to give you a nickname if they care about you.

• I don't like to be the center of attention. I'd rather have the person in the spotlight looking at me for their moral support and encouragement because they know I'll always be by their side.

• I don't truly express myself a lot, because I'm always waiting for the perfect moment. Someday I'll realize that the perfect moment doesn't occur very often.

• I'd do anything for someone who needs my help, but I hate it when people go out of their way for me.

• I stand very firmly in my beliefs. I'm a Christian, and God is my beginning, my end, and everything in my inbetween.

• Sometimes I pull away from people I love, but only because I'm afraid they'll push me away.

• I love music, I love singing, and I don't care what people think.

• I love the rain, because it says everything I can never say in a way that I'll never be able to imitate.

Freedom's Source

2005-09-11T21:03:00.000-07:00

It is the soldier, not the reporter, who has given us freedom of the press.

It is the soldier, not the poet, who has given us freedom of speech.

It is the soldier, not the campus organizer, who has given us the freedom to demonstrate.

It is the soldier, not the lawyer, who has given us the right to a fair trial.

It is the soldier, who salutes the flag, who serves under the flag, and whose coffin is draped by the flag, who allows the protester to burn the flag.

Were it not for the brave, there would be no land of the free.

9/11/01, never forget.

Liberals Are Stupid.

2005-09-03T00:03:00.000-07:00

Here's the deal. In general, liberals are a tight-wound, angry bunch of people. Have you ever noticed that everything liberals do is anti-something? Here in Eugene, you see them all the time standing out on street corners, protesting. Yelling about this or that, complaining: anti-this, anti-that, you know what? Anti-your mom.

On the other hand, conservatives tend to be a pretty happy bunch of people. Sure, there are some wacky Republicans out there; and sure, there are some positive Democrats out there but honestly, the bitter Dems far outnumber the unhappy Repubs. Some say that it's because we're in the White House, so obviously we're gonna be happy. True, but you know what? I've never seen a "Clinton: Not MY President" bumper sticker. I see something "W: Not MY President"-related at least every other day. Look, unless you're not an American, he is your president. You know why? Democracy.

So this evening, I put an away message up that said, "Liberals are stupid." Partly just laughing at them for being so uptight, partly because I miss my Republican friends whom I haven't seen in over 3 months. So tonight...

buzzlightyear544: Bush is a retard that cant take care of issues in the states. The problem with party politics is stupid people who say that "Liberals are stupid." Liberals are no more stupid than conservatives and conservatives are no more stupid them. The stupid people are those who are so closed minded that they dont see both sides of the story. Open your eyes and be accepting of someone elses opinion. Without accnoledging and trying to understand the reason for the other persons point of view you will never gain any knowledge and you will be the one that is stupid.

TepidSoda (Autoreply): liberals are stupid

buzzlightyear544: That is a stupid statment we are all just people. Wars are created by people telling each other they are stupid and wrong. And the more you tell someone that they are stupid the more you piss them off and create a problem. Dont be the stupid one and treat people fairly as people not as liberals or conservatives we all have something good to say.

(And then he signed off right away.)

Okay so let's dissect this. You called Bush a retard, then you called me stupid for calling liberals stupid. And then you said I should let their stupidness infiltrate my brain... so I can become stupid like them? Or no, wait, because I'm already stupid. But then you went after the statement, calling it stupid. And then.. "Wars are created by people telling each other they are stupid."

Sorry, last time I checked, the war in Iraq started because somebody called Saddam a "Poo-Poo Head," not "Stupid." [Get your facts right.] And it definitely wasn't because he was killing and torturing his own people without anybody to stop him, no, definitely not that.

That's all I have to say.

Breakaway! [or don't..]

2005-08-29T15:55:00.000-07:00

Is it lame that I've become addicted to Kelly Clarkson's CD Breakaway?

I mean... I've only watched American Idol, like, twice so it's not like I'm an American Idol freak. Not that you're a freak necessarily if you're an American Idol enthusiast. I'm sure not everybody stereotypes the show and it's audience the same way I do. Not that you're a loser if you watch the show, well, I take that back. You have a greater likelihood of being a loser if you're addicted to a show called "American Idol." Seriously, think about it. Everything that's wrong with our society can be exemplified in some way or another in one episode of American Idol. The only thing good about the show is that the contestants actually have (usually) some degree of musical talent. Other than that...

Okay the point is, I've been listening to Kelly Clarkson for the last few days and she's pretty good. Breakaway is pretty much one of the best "Boys are Trouble" albums ever. At first, I wasn't sure if I wanted anybody to know my dark secret but I decided that I'm comin' out, and I'm letting the whole world know. Maybe revealing this fact brings me down to the status of a 13-year-old teeny bopper, I don't know. But anyway. Yeah. Now you know.

On a different note, Death Cab for Cutie's new album comes out tomorrow and I'm stoked. I might actually go out and buy the album. Yeah, I bet you thought you'd never hear me say that, huh. But it's Death Cab. Then again, I don't really have money.

To be decided.

Henry at Work

2005-08-25T13:38:00.000-07:00

I work for a company called Language Learning Solutions, located just across Franklin from the U of O. I've worked there for almost 2 1/2 years and since I've been working there, the company has gone from a little barely-scraping-by company to a growing million-dollar-contracts company.

Sidenote, I also work for my dad. He's been working at LLS for 3 years and started out writing French items (pretty low level) – now, he's in charge of several huge contracts including the Minnesota Department of Education's ESL program. He travels to Minnesota, Georgia, Kentucky, you name it, for meetings with people who are pretty important to the future of LLS. My dad also owns a small percent of the company now, which is pretty cool, and he's moved up to being one of the big guys in the office.

So a couple of years ago, my dad used to bring our dog, Henry, to the office every day. Henry's a yellow lab, he's 7 years old, and he's very mellow. We didn't want to leave him at home alone all day every day so my dad just brought him along to work. Nobody had a problem with it; everybody loved Henry. He was kinda like the class pet.

Well, my dad started riding his bike to work and that didn't really accomodate Henry so we just started attaching him to a leash outside the house whenever nobody was home. Henry still occasionally comes into the office, but usually only when I bring him in, which isn't that often. Since Henry's "office pet" days, LLS also hired a new head honcho dude, John, to deal with the business side of things as LLS grew to be a bigger and bigger company.

So my parents are out of town on vacation and I'm working every day this week at LLS. I decided I didn't want to leave Henry all alone while my parents were gone so I've been bringing him to the office all week. He just lies quietly by my desk and doesn't disturb anybody. We're still in the same frumpy office building we were in 3 years ago (it used to be an animal research center - it's kinda a weird building) so it never crossed my mind that Henry coming to work with me would be a problem.

Well, I pull into work today and John comes out to the parking lot and says, "Look, Melissa, we have got to do something about this dog." "Henry?" is my response. He looks at me, then at the dog, then back at me. "Yeah, we just can't be having a dog in the office. It really could look bad for the company." Whoops. "Okay," I reply, "I didn't realize it was a problem, I was just bringing him in because my parents are on vacation and this way he doesn't have to stay home alone all day." John opens his eyes really wide, I'm not completely sure why, and goes, "Oooooooohhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Well, it's fine for today then, but in the future... meh." His reaction was a little weird, but I was cool about it. "Sorry, I mean, I didn't think it was a problem because it never has been in the past, but I can see your concern with LLS being a bigger company than it was when Henry used to come in..." Then John goes into this huge justification explination thing, which isn't really necessary because I really do understand already, and at the end of it, I just say, "Okay, sorry about that, I didn't know but I won't bring him in anymore now that I know it's a problem." Then he goes into the "it's nothing against you" thing, which isn't necessary because I already understand, and.. yeah.

So I'm sitting at my desk, working of course, and Dave, the owner and one of the founders of LLS, walks in. What does he say? "HENRYYYYYY!!!!!!" Then he gets down and pets Henry and says in a mushy puppy voice, "Ohhh, buddy, it's good to have you around again."

Haha.

They Cut Me Open. Ow.

2005-08-13T09:13:00.000-07:00

Part of me will always be in the Dominican Republic: my appendix.

So I was supposed to fly home to Eugene today. Here's what happened.

It all started Monday morning when I woke up with cramps so bad that I was crying, but I went to my site anyway because there was a lot of work to get done and I couldn't afford to take the day off. It was also my mom's birthday, so I called her while we were at the cemetery wall but she was too tired to talk so I just sang happy birthday.

So after we got back from sites around 4pm, the only thing I could do was go lay in bed because my cramps hurt like nothing ever and my entire right side hurt and shot pain clear up through my neck every time I took a breath. I slept through supper, only because I couldn't walk to the dining hall.. although I wasn't really sleeping, I was just laying in bed trying to stay still. Anyway, about 10 pm my parents called the intern phone and I just started crying and telling them how bad it hurt. My mom got really worried and called Nate, my boss. He wound up coming over to pick me up and bring me to the clinic, this is about 11 pm. Alba, our doctor, examined me and then they called in another doctor, Elvira, and she did a sonogram on my stomach. They decided that I should go down to Santiago first thing in the morning to see if I had appendicitis.

Long story short, after being pricked with about 20 thousand needles and examined by 40 million doctors, they took my appendix out on Tuesday afternoon, my mom arrived in Santiago around noon the next day (Wednesday), and I was able to leave the hospital around 5:30 on Wednesday. So yeah.

Alba owes me 15 lollipops so far, one for each time I was stuck with a needle. Check this out, this is how great it is to be me.. Apparently I have skin "muy duro" and it's really hard to find a vein for an IV. I have 5 IV needle marks on my left hand, 1 on my left forearm, and 3 on my right hand. If you've ever had an IV, you know that IV needles hurt more than anything ever. I also got blood drawn twice from my left, umm, ...elbow pit, not sure what else to call it, and I've gotten 2 shots so far in each of my buttcheeks.

So yeah. All that to say, it sucks to be me right now. But I'm feeling better. I'm walking around, eating normal food, having visitors, watching movies, and taking vicodin. It's really nice having my mom here, especially since I have to stay until the 18th now because I can't travel today. But yeah.

Oh, another kinda weird thing that my mom told me, she said that she woke up in the middle of the night Sunday night around 3:30 am with horrible cramps and shooting pains in her stomach like she had never felt before. 3:30 their time was 6:30 our time, which is when I woke up on Monday morning and had my pain. She said that her stomach killed all day long but as soon as she hung up the phone after talking to me when I told her what was wrong that night, the pain was gone. Weird, huh?

Yup, well, that's what's up with life here in the DR.

I'm Still Alive.

2005-08-02T08:30:00.000-07:00

I've been in the Dominican Republic for 8 weeks now, and I only have 2 weeks left before I go back home to Eugene. It's weird to think about going back to America. I love living here. I know close to nothing of what's happened in the world in the last 2 months and I kinda like that feeling. Last time I checked, somebody bombed England.. or something... That's pretty much the extent of what I know about the world right now. I know what's happening here in Jarabacoa, though, and I'm happy with it being like that.

Other than that, I'm tired and my nose is sunburned from being at the beach all day yesterday so I'll write more some other time. Or when I get back to Eugene. Internet access is rare, so we'll see.

Adios!

One Year Without Ronnie

2005-06-06T19:24:00.000-07:00

For Immediate Release
Office of the Press Secretary
June 6, 2004

Announcing the Death of Ronald Reagan
By the President of the United States of America
A Proclamation

TO THE PEOPLE OF THE UNITED STATES:

It is my sad duty to announce officially the death of Ronald Reagan, the fortieth President of the United States, on June 5, 2004.

We are blessed to live in a Nation, and a world, that have been shaped by the will, the leadership, and the vision of Ronald Reagan.

With an unshakable faith in the values of our country and the character of our people, Ronald Reagan renewed America's confidence and restored our Nation. His optimism, strength, and humility epitomized the American spirit. He always told us that for America the best was yet to come.

Ronald Reagan believed that God takes the side of justice and that America has a special calling to oppose tyranny and defend freedom. Through his courage and determination, he enhanced America's security and advanced the spread of peace, liberty, and democracy to millions of people who had lived in darkness and oppression. As America's President, Ronald Reagan helped change the world.

President Reagan has left us, but he has left us stronger and better. We take comfort in the knowledge that he has left us for a better place, the shining city that awaits him.

NOW, THEREFORE, I, GEORGE W. BUSH, President of the United States of America, by the authority vested in me by the Constitution and laws of the United States, in honor and tribute to the memory of Ronald Reagan, and as an expression of public sorrow, do hereby direct that the flag of the United States be displayed at half-staff at the White House and on all buildings, grounds, and Naval vessels of the United States for a period of 30 days from the day of his death. I also direct that for the same length of time, the representatives of the United States in foreign countries shall make similar arrange-ments for the display of the flag at half-staff over their Embassies, Legations, and other facilities abroad, including all military facilities and stations.

I hereby order that suitable honors be rendered by units of the Armed Forces under orders of the Secretary of Defense.

I do further appoint Friday, June 11, 2004, as a National Day of Mourning throughout the United States. I call on the American people to assemble on that day in their respective places of worship, there to pay homage to the memory of President Reagan. I invite the people of the world who share our grief to join us in this solemn observance.

IN WITNESS WHEREOF, I have hereunto set my hand this sixth day of June, in the year of our Lord two thousand four, and of the Independence of the United States of America the two hundred and twenty-eighth.

GEORGE W. BUSH

# # #

Ronald Reagan's death was officially announced one year ago today. We love you, Ronnie.

COPS!

2005-06-05T02:56:00.000-07:00

Well, it's the end of the school year. Tonight was the College Republicans end of year party, which was a lot of fun until it came time to start saying goodbye to people. Some of them I won't see ever again, some of then I may see one day, and some of them I'll be seeing again in the fall, which seems like a lifetime away right now. All I want is to just have my friends and not have to say goodbye, ever.

So I left the CR party around midnight and went over to On the Rocks In the Dark (OTR ITD), which is an annual concert that takes place at the end of dead week Spring term, where where OTR sings every song they know. It's become an annual tradition for a lot of people as a way to close out the year, and it seems that the crowd gets larger every year. Tonight was my third OTR ITD, which is crazy because it doesn't seem like it's been that long. But at the same time, I feel like a completely different person. I'm an older, wiser, and much more weathered Melissa than I was back then.

So on my way home at 2am, I was driving down 18th going through the 18th & Hilyard intersection and the light turned yellow. I was lost in thought so I didn't notice it right away. I could have stopped if I had noticed it sooner but I didn't, and by the time I saw it was yellow, I didn't see any harm in going through the yellow light. NOTE: The light was not red, nor did it turn red as I was passing through the light.

So there was a car waiting to turn left onto Hilyard. As I went through the intersection, the headlights of the left turner's car made it to where I couldn't see the car. Well, as soon as I started passing the car, what do you know. It's a cop. I wasn't speeding, and I didn't think I had broken any laws, but I kept my eyes glued to the rear-view mirror... sure enough, lights go a-flashing and he flips a U-turn in the middle of the intersection. Shoot. I turned left on Patterson and pulled over, kinda freakin' out (a liiiittle) on the inside. I've never been pulled over by a cop before with me as the driver.

The first thing he says, "Do you realize you just ran a red light?" "I never saw it turn red sir, it was yellow when I went through." "Okay well if you're at all able to stop, you shouldn't go through yellow lights. It's actually against the law if you have enough time to stop. Did you know that?" "No." "Yeah, I didn't think you did." Then he questioned me on a whole bunch of stuff, got my license and registration, went back to his car and checked my record, came back, and said, "Well, your record is immaculate so I'll let you go with a warning." "Okay, thank you sir."

NOTE: I'm good with cops. I get it from my mom... trust me, there are many good stories about my mom and cops, especially (but not limited to) corrupt cops in foreign countries. It always ends with her driving off scott free, even if she was actually breaking a law. Granted, I wasn't breaking any laws but I was calm, cool, and collected with that cop like I never would have thought I'd be. Ahh, I look forward to the day when I get myself out of a ticket I deserved (not that I'm planning on deserving any).. my family will be so proud of me. No seriously, they actually will.

So tonight, we learned two things:
1) The cop tried to get me to admit that I had run a red light, which I hadn't.
2) He knew all along that I didn't run a red light.. but this Tuck stands up for herself, even when she's up against a big bad law enforcement official. Take that, authorities.

And now I have to sleep.

Liberals & My Neighbor Rob

2005-06-02T19:59:00.000-07:00

Today, as I was driving, I saw two outrageously rediculous liberal bumper stickers.

The first one said, "No Human Being is Illegal." Aww, my heart cries too. However, I have a newsflash for you. If a person doesn't have enough respect for our country to abide by the laws which we have set regarding legal immigration, they, my friend, are illegal. It's as simple as that.

The second, which I have seen multiple times before, said "Peace Through Music!" ...OH MY GOSH NO WAY!!!! Okay hold up guys, did you tell Saddam Hussein about your Peace Through Music plan before we resorted to invading Iraq? Because I'm pretty sure, if he had known about your ingenious option before then, we could have avoided this whole Iraq thing altogether. And he would've stopped torturing and killing his own Iraqi citizens, all because of music. Seriously guys, get off your butts and get the message, I mean the music, to Ossama bin Laden so we don't have to spend another of your precious tax dollars defending world freedom and standing up for what's right, even thoguh it may not be popular.

The ultimate bumper sticker prize, however, has to go to my neighbor, Rob. Rob is a burned-out hippie of sorts, quite a mysterious character, he is. I'm not quite sure what he does for a living but I think he either repairs music boxes or does Bonsai. (Whatever it is that you do to Bonsai... sculpt?) Two completely random choices, I know, but he's sorta that kind of an odd fellow.

Rob is always changing the bumper stickers on his SUV. That's right, hippie Rob drives an SUV. For a long time, he had a some bleeding heart "Love Mother Earth" sticker on there, but as the November elections drew near, he changed it to the ever-popular "Defend America; Defeat Bush." After the elections, he went to SorryEverybody.com and got the snazzy "DEAR WORLD, Sorry. We tried our best. -HALF OF AMERICA." Which, as a side note, is BS because over half of America voted for Bush. Therefore, less than half of America is sorry. Gotta love democracy.

So the other day, I was driving past Rob's house and I was caught completely off guard by his new bumper sticker. You know those yellow ribbon "Support Our Troops" stickers the liberals are always bitching about being on government vehicles? You guessed it, apparently now Rob supports our troops. I was so stunned by this revelation that I actually slammed on my brakes and stared in astonishment with my mouth wide open. Only to notice a few seconds later that he was sitting on his front porch looking right at me. I furrowed my brow at him and gave him a questioning look, then pulled into my driveway and went on my merry way.

So anyway, that's the story of my crazy liberal neighbor, Rob. Silly liberals.

I Am Slowly Going Crazy...

2005-05-30T20:39:00.000-07:00

Dear Time,

Could you please stop for about a week so I can catch up on everything I have to do without getting behind on everything else in the process?

I'm leaving for the Dominican Republic in 8 days and I have about a bajillion items on my to-do list. (Note to self, make a to-do list.) I'm gonna be gone for two and a half months, which means that I should probably start packing, or making a packing list, or something... and I have two tests to take before I leave, neither of which I've even started studying for. And an entire book to read and an 8 page paper to write about said book. And I still have to work and sleep and eat and shower and all that stuff. You get the point.

So, would you please take my request under consideration and just STOP for a while? Please??

Your faithful follower,

Tuck.

Have a Lay!

2005-05-26T16:09:00.000-07:00

The other day as I was passing in front of Straub Hall I ran into a couple of old friends from the Newman Center, Andrew and Colleen. They were laying on the sidewalk. Andrew said, "Hey, have a lay." So I did. We haven't seen each other in a long, long time so we just laid on the sidewalk and caught up on each others' lives. Kinda random, but I can now highly reccomend sidewalk laying to anybody.

So yesterday, Andrew called me and asked me if I would come to Wednesday Night Mass at the Newman Center. I had coffee before mass with David (whose comment on this entry, I'm sure, will be posted below very soon) and I decided to just do it.

It's weird saying that going to mass was such a huge step out on a limb for me. It's mass. It's a church. Right? Yeah... It's more complicated than that. I haven't been to the Newman Center since November and a whole lot of crap has gone down since then. During it all, I just didn't feel welcome or comfortable at Newman. Afterwards, I still didn't feel like I would ever be able to go back, but every time I walk by the Newman Center, I think about what it would be like if I went back. What certain peoples' reactions to my presence would be, what kind of a welcoming (or lack thereof) I would receive. I finally decided that there was only one way to find out, and that I needed to find out before I leave for the Dominican Republic (which is in 12 days, by the way). It was just something I had to do for myself, just so I wouldn't have to always be wondering about "what if." And enough water has gone under the bridge that I felt okay about going back.

So I did. I expected to acheive one of two things. Either closure to the Newman Center (and Catholic) part of my life -or- a reopening of it. And I still don't really know which one happened, it might have to settle a little bit before I can figure that out.

What wound up happening when I showed up for mass is that most everybody was really happy to see me. I got more hugs than I could ever count, and most of them were genuine, I think. There were a few people who tried to avoid me or glare at me, but I don't really care because I didn't expect anything else from them. There were a couple people who waited to see what my reaction was to them before they welcomed me back, which is understandable. Paul's prayer during mass was something to the effect of overcoming our past differences with each other and moving on.. I think that was the general theme of the night.

I didn't realize until I got there how much I missed the Newman Center. Things will never be the way they were last year and the year before, but I don't expect them to be. I've moved on, but Newman has still managed to keep a place in my heart. But more than the place, I missed the people. I'll be the first to admit that I didn't miss all of them, but I was so happy to see most of them. The ones I wasn't so excited to see weren't so excited to see me either, so I guess that worked out in a way.

It's the little things, like Tyler singing my name when he saw me, like he always does, and Father Dave calling me Melly, and Paul calling me K-9 (because of my teeth). I built strong bonds with a lot of those people, and it hurts that I had to let them go.

Life goes on, and what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. What I learned from last night is that whenever I see those people, which I haven't decided yet how often that will be, I'll always be welcomed with a warm hug and old nicknames. That makes me happy. Things will never be the way they were, but that's okay with me. So I'm happy.

Liberals Are Funny.

2005-05-17T18:44:00.000-07:00

Today, I would like to present to you a shining example of why I love liberals, despite the fact that they're stupid and they tend to smell bad.

Liberals make every effort to piss off us right-wingers and I'll be the first to admit that sometimes, their utter absurdness does manage to get under our skin. In the end, however, all they really succeed in doing is providing us with a constant source of entertainment.

Allow me to illustrate.

The College Republicans are bringing a guest speaker, Dan Flynn to the U of O to speak on the subject of "Why the Left Hates America," which is, incidentally, the title of one of his books. We've been publicizing the event with these pink flyers everywhere:

Needless to say, that is going to grab the eye of any typical liberal nutcase. So this is what the lefties did. They took our flyer and made their own version of it, with a few minor adjustments. Check it out:

Honestly, it just has to make you laugh. What are we going to be, mad that they're helping attract attention to our event?? We want people to show up, believe it or not, and the hard work on their part to get people to attend is greatly appreciated, really.

So there you go. Their ideology may be complete bullshit, but at least liberals are funny!

Life Goes On

2005-05-09T12:44:00.000-07:00

"What do you do? You laugh. I'm not saying I don't cry in between but I laugh and I realize how silly it is to take anything too seriously. Plus, I look forward to a good cry. It feels pretty good." ~Garden State (AMAZING movie)

So, it's been a while since I've written anything. Here's a general overview of what's been up in Tucktown.

• I turned 20. I've now been around for two decades.

• I'm still going to the Dominican Republic for the summer, although I think I'm gonna wind up going a little later than I had planned.

• There was a boyfriend for about 2 weeks. He was a liberal. He broke up with me last night because he doesn't do long distance. I'm leaving for 2 months soon. This turned out to be a problem. I don't hate him and you shouldn't either. We're still friends, or at least we both want to be. It kinda came out of the blue to me. I'm still adjusting, and I don't want to hear any I told you so's, whether or not you think you have a good one.

• I cut my hair, again. A couple of months ago, I cut of 7 inches and yesterday I cut off 5 inches. That's an entire foot of hair, in case you can't do math. I kindof did it out of the blue... I walked out the door and wound up at SuperCuts saying "Cut it off." I'm still getting used to it.

• As much as I would like to say that I've moved on, closed one chapter, and opened another, I'm still having trouble moving on from past... stuff. It always comes back to haunt me in little ways, like seeing certain people or things or places.

• I managed to get my car towed outside Adam's house, and it cost me $190. In case you can't read numbers, that's one hundred and ninety freaking dollars. But it was my fault for parking under the "Tenant Parking Only" sign, which I should have seen but didn't, even though I looked for it. I now have $4.11 to my name. That's four dollars and eleven cents. I only have to wait 22 more days for my next paycheck. Holy crap. Needless to say, if it involves spending money, I'm not doing it for now.

• I still try to keep a smile on my face, because it's just stupid not to. Don't feel sorry for me, because I don't feel sorry for myself. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger.

• I still love my College Republicans and I still love Dubya. I broke out my "W, Still the President" shirt today, it feels good to wear it again.

From Bethany [My Twin]

2005-04-29T18:05:00.000-07:00

So I usually do write my own original stuff on my blog, just for the record, even though the last 2 entries (and now this one) have been quoted from other people. But I was reading my friend Bethany's blog a minute ago and I came across the following entry. She and I went to high school together in Africa, and people often got us mixed up because we kinda look alike. I got used to answering to "Bethany," and she got used to answering to "Melissa"... anyway, here's what she wrote.

Reflections on l'Afrique de l'Ouest

Something about West Africa attaches itself to you; it holds on and never lets go. The sights, the sounds, even the smells, become ingrained in you, pulling you back. You often wonder how and why this continent gets in your blood; after all, first impressions of the Conakry airport in Guinea generally arouse a certain repulsion. Not only is everything brown because of layers upon layers of dirt, but the smell of Conakry is overwhelming, a combination of body odor, urine, and car exhaust. Inside the airport, everyone is packed together, like the cliche 'tuna in a can.' And that's meant that quite literally. You've barely room to put your boxes on the airport floor. But beyond first impressions, beyond intense crowdedness, beyond ugly smells are the lives of a people struggling to survive in third world countries.

There are people working hard day in and day out just to survive, plowing through entire mountain sides in 100 degree weather with a small hoe that consists of a two to three feet wooden handle and a small, round, steel blade. There are orphanages where children with such sweet smiles, so happy, so innocent, look up into your eyes and your heart breaks not knowing whether or not they'll end up as one more sad statistic lost in Africa. There are beggars on the sides of the street, poor beggars, beggars who plead with you to leave them just 100 francs. You begin to talk to people, to realize these people, these people who are some of the poorest in the world, somehow still have hope. They laugh. They sing. They dance. You discover their inside jokes, the constant bickering between the Baas and the Diallos, their plays on words. You see little children driving their homemade wire cars, playing a game of soccer in flip flops, dancing out in the first rain after the dry season. You listen at night to the far off sounds of drumming, knowing that somewhere out there, people are taking a break after their hard day of labor.

How, you might ask, can these people still find joy when their countries are in such turmoil? And why is it that all you can remember are the bright smiles of a proud people and the giggling of little children? Nothing really answers these questions; it is simply how it is. People hold on to whatever they can in order to survive life; somehow, you find a way to smile, to laugh, and then to cry when the time is right. Hope is still there for West Africa; it is not until that hope is gone that laughter will cease. Perhaps it's the determination of the people that draws you to this region.

Whatever it is, it holds onto you like nothing else. When you're gone away from West Africa, anything slightly related to the region brings thousands of memories to the forefront of your mind. You remember looking at the African sky, seeing thousands of stars in a cloudless sky. You remember the marketplaces, with bright, scattered colors and the noise of the people bartering overwhelming your senses. You remember the smell of dirt after the first rains. You remember shaking thousands of hands and going through millions of greetings before starting the 'real' conversations. You remember watching old taxis so beaten up you can't even know their original color was yellow. They are crammed full of people, even to the point of boys riding on the roof or holding on to the back. You remember a simpler life, a slower life, where time is not so important. It is these memories that draw you back, making you miss what you used to call home.

Africa gets in your blood; it never leaves.

Well put, Bethany.

Ode to the Nice Girls

2005-04-23T15:33:00.000-07:00

I came across this the other day on the internet... it's pretty long but it's good, you should read it.

Ode to the Nice Girls
This rant was written because a nice girl finally snapped.

I've read the Ode to Nice Guys; this is my response.

This is my tribute to the nice girls. To the nice girls who are overlooked, who become friends and nothing more, who spend hours fixating upon their looks and their personalities and their actions because it must be they that are doing something wrong. This is for the girls who don't give it up on the first date, who don't want to play mind games, who provide a comforting hug and a supportive audience for a story they've heard a thousand times. This is for the girls who understand that they aren't perfect and that the guys they're interested in aren't either, for the girls who flirt and laugh and worry and obsess over the slightest glance, whisper, touch, because somehow they are able to keep alive that hope that maybe... maybe this time he'll have understood. This is an homage to the girls who laugh loud and often, who are comfortable in skirts and sweats and combat boots, who care more than they should for guys who don't deserve their attention. This is for those girls who have been in the trenches, who have watched other girls time and time again fake up and make up and fuck up the guys in their lives without saying a word. This is for the girls who have been there from the beginning and have heard the trite words of advice, from "there are plenty of fish in the sea," to "time heals all wounds." This is to honor those girls who know that guys are just as scared as they are, who know that they deserve better, who are seeking to find it.

This is for the girls who have never been in love, but know that it's an experience that they don't want to miss out on. For the girls who have sought a night with friends and been greeted by a night of catcalling, rude comments and explicit invitations that they'd rather not have experienced. This is for the girls who have spent their weekends sitting on the sidelines of a beer pong tournament or a case race, or playing Florence Nightingale for a vomiting guy friend or a comatose crush, who have received a drunk phone call just before dawn from someone who doesn't care enough to invite them over but is still willing to pass out in their bed. This is for the girls who have left sad song lyrics in their away messages, who have tried to make someone understand through a subliminally appealing profile, who have time and time again dropped their male friend hint after hint after hint only to watch him chase after the first blonde girl in a skirt. This is for the girls who have been told that they're too good or too smart or too pretty, who have been given compliments as a way of breaking off a relationship, who have ever been told they are only wanted as a friend.

This one's for the girls who you can take home to mom, but won't because it's easier to sleep with a whore than foster a relationship; this is for the girls who have been led on by words and kisses and touches, all of which were either only true for the moment, or never real to begin with. This is for the girls who have allowed a guy into their head and heart and bed, only to discover that he's just not ready, he's just not over her, he's just not looking to be tied down; this is for the girls who believe the excuses because it's easier to believe that it's not that they don't want you, it's that they don't want anyone. This is for the girls who have had their hearts broken and their hopes dashed by someone too cavalier to have cared in the first place; this is for the nights spent dissecting every word and syllable and inflection in his speech, for the nights when you've returned home alone, for the nights when you've seen from across the room him leaning a little too close, or standing a little too near, or talking a little too softly for the girl he's with to be a random hookup. This is for the girls who have endured party after party in his presence, finally having realized that it wasn't that he didn't want a relationship: it was that he didn't want you. I honor you for the night his dog died or his grandmother died or his little brother crashed his car and you held him, thinking that if you only comforted him just right, or said the right words, or rubbed his back in the right way then perhaps he'd realize what it was that he already had. This is for the night you realized that it would never happen, and the sunrise you saw the next morning after failing to sleep.

This is for the "I really like you, so let's still be friends" comment after you read more into a situation than he ever intended; this is for never realizing that when you choose friends, you seldom choose those which make you cry yourself to sleep. This is for the hugs you've received from your female friends, for the nights they've reassured you that you are beautiful and intelligent and amazing and loyal and truly worthy of a great guy; this is for the despair you all felt as you sat in the aftermath of your tears, knowing that that night the only companionship you'd have was with a pillow and your teddy bear. This is for the girls who have been used and abused, who have endured what he was giving because at least he was giving something; this is for the stupidity of the nights we've believed that something was better than nothing, though his something was nothing we'd have ever wanted. This is for the girls who have been satisified with too little and who have learned never to expect anything more: for the girls who don't think that they deserve more, because they've been conditioned for so long to accept the scraps thrown to them by guys.

This is what I don't understand. Men sit and question and whine that girls are only attracted to the mean guys, the guys who berate them and belittle them and don't appreciate them and don't want them; who use them for sex and think of little else than where their next conquest will be made. Men complain that they never meet nice girls, girls who are genuinely interested and compelling, who are intelligent and sweet and smart and beautiful; men despair that no good women want to share in their lives, that girls play mindgames, that girls love to keep them hanging. Yet, men, I ask you: were you to meet one of these genuinely interested, thrillingly compelling, interesting and intelligent and sweet and beautiful and smart girls, were you to give her your number and wait for her to call... and if you were to receive a call from her the next day and she, in her truthful, loyal, intelligent and straightforward nice girl fashion, were to tell you that she finds you intriguing and attractive and interesting and worth her time and perhaps material from which she could fashion a boyfriend, would you or would you not immediately call your friends to tell them of the "stalker chick" you'd met the night prior, who called you and wore her heart on her sleeve and told the truth? And would you, or would you not, refuse to make plans with her, speak with her, see her again, and once again return to the bar or club or party scene and search once more for this "nice girl" who you just cannot seem to find? Because therein lies the truth, guys: we nice girls are everywhere. But you're not looking for a nice girl. You're not looking for someone genuinely interested in your intermural basketball game, or your anatomy midterm grade, or that argument you keep having with your father; you're looking for a quick fix, a night when you can pretend to have a connection with another human being which is just as disposable as the condom you were using during it.

So don't say you're on the lookout for nice girls, guys, when you pass us up on every step you take. Sometimes we go undercover; sometimes we go in disguise: sometimes when that girl in the low cut shirt or the too tight miniskirt won't answer your catcalls, sometimes you're looking at a nice girl in whore's clothing - - we might say we like the attention, we might blush and giggle and turn back to our friends, but we're all thinking the same thing: "This isn't me. Tomorrow morning, I'll be wearing a teeshirt and flannel shorts, I'll have slept alone and I'll be making my hungover best friend breakfast. See through the disguise. See me." You never do. Why? Because you only see the exterior, you only see the slutty girl who welcomes those advances. You don't want the nice girl.. so don't say you're looking for a relationship: relationships take time and energy and intent, three things we're willing to extend - - but in return, we're looking for compassion and loyalty and trust, three things you never seem willing to express. Maybe nice guys finish last, but in the race they're running they're chasing after the whores and the sluts and the easy-targets... the nice girls are waiting at the finish line with water and towels and a congradulatory hug (and yes, if she's a nice girl and she likes you, the sweatiness probably won't matter), hoping against hope that maybe you'll realize that they're the ones that you want at the end of that silly race.

So maybe it won't last forever. Maybe some of those guys in that race will turn in their running shoes and make their way to the concession stand where we're waiting; however, until that happens, we still have each other, that silly race to watch, and all the chocolate we can eat (because what's a concession stand at a race without some chocolate?)

by Jessica Leigh Griffith.

"That's her."

2005-04-13T22:29:00.000-07:00

"Find a guy who calls you beautiful instead of hot, who calls you back when you hang up on him, who will stay awake just to watch you sleep. Wait for the boy who kisses your forehead, who wants to show you off to the world when you are in your sweats, who holds your hand in front of his friends, who thinks you're just as pretty without makeup on. Wait for the one who is constantly reminding you of how much he cares about you and how lucky he is to have you. Wait for the one who turns to his friends and says, '...that's her.'"

– Nikster, on his away message.. too good not to quote!

2005-04-11T19:43:00.000-07:00

I ran into Tyler today for the first time since... November. It's been a long time since I've seen anyone from the Newman Center, mostly because they're not so cool with me anymore. It's a strange thing, feeling completely unwelcome at a church. Tyler and I sat on the trunk of my car in the Newman parking lot and just talked for a long time. It's weird how it was just like old times with him, even though there's a lot of stuff under the surface that we aren't saying.

Right now, I'm remembering everything I had, everything I went through, everyone who turned on me, and everything I lost. It kinda hurts to think about it. I pretty much just want to get in my car and leave town. Then, I think about everything I have now and I think about my College Republicans. It's not just a club... it's a lifestyle!

I think I'll go see a movie or something to keep my brain occupied. Everybody has stuff to do, but I'm happy chillin' with my movie friends. Maybe I'll go for a drive. I wish it would rain because I just got new windshield wipers today and I can't wait to use them.

2005-04-10T02:33:00.000-07:00

In life, where do you draw the line between past, present, and future? Where does the present become the future and where does the future blend with the past? What happens when the past and the present are two completely different worlds that have nothing in common? How do you bring the past into the future?

So basically, I did a lot of driving today, to and from Salem for the Oregon Right to Life conference, etc., and too much time alone always makes my brain start going about a gajillion miles per hour. On I-5, I drove by the exit that takes you to a friend of mine's house, a friend from Africa. I think he goes to OSU now, but I don't even really know. He and I were never super best friends or anything, but we've known each other since I was in 5th grade and it kinda makes me sad that nobody really knows the Africa part of me or the Switzerland part of me. Or the pre-uprooting-of-life part of me.

So within Melissa Faith Tucker, here are my personas:

1) Melissa. Born in Nazareth, Israel, lived in California until she was 9. Moved schools often. Super outgoing, kinda an annoying kid, if you ask me.

2) Mel. Moved to Switzerland at the age of 9 to learn French, before going to Africa. Became extremely withdrawn and hardly even spoke for at least a year, perhaps more. I actually hated it when the Swiss people started calling me Mel. But then it grew on me. Now, I love nicknames because you only give someone a nickname if they're important to you. I also later came to the realization that if I married Mel Gibson, my name would be Mel Gibson, which is SUPER COOL.

3) Mélissa. Moved to Africa at the age of 10, lived through civil wars and evacuations and near deaths. Lived in 3 different African countries and the only material thing that traveled with her the whole time was her barbies. And her doll, Zoey. I don't think anyone in Eugene has ever met Zoey. She's super cool.

4) Mrs. Richardson. 7th grade, lived in America for a year. Became obsessed with the boybands of 1999. Mr. Richardson's name is Kevin, and he's a Backstreet boy. My best friend Analicia was married to Nick Carter from the Backstreet boys and my other best friend Raylene was married to Nick Lachey from 98 Degrees. Mr. Lachey is now married to Jessica Simpson. My marriage to Kevin Richardson expired in 9th grade, when he married some other girl. I still wear my wedding ring, only it's on my right hand now.

5) Melt. Was born in study hall in 9th grade, when she and Ruben and Travis had the entire library to themselves for an entire hour every morning. Ruben came up with the nickname, from Mel T. The name stuck, and I was Melt for the rest of high school. I'm still Melt with all my Africa friends and my brother.

6) Melly. Freshman and Sophomore year of college, back in America. She was Catholic. The nickname actually came from Father Dave, the preist at the Newman Center. Melly learned a lot of things, really fast. Experienced a lot of culture shock and tried to just completely put Melissa, Mel, Mélissa, and Melt behind her. Especially Melt.

7) Tuck. College Republican, Junior year. The nickname was started by Anthony, the newly inducted honorary member of my Africa crew. Tuck is only recently trying to figure out how to make Melissa Faith Tucker one again by talking about Africa with her friends. Test subject number one is Anthony, hence the abduction. I think it's going pretty well becuase he's still my friend. This might work and I might try it on others. I might try it on YOU if you're not careful. Tuck is also trying to understand American culture and trying to figure out what her culture is.

Besides my parents, the only person who is a part of each me is Sir Joshua Benjamin Wayne Tucker. One of my friends says she's convinced that Josh and I are actually twins. But really, he's the 22-year-old that lives it the garage. My mom kicked him out of the house for being too loud. So he lives in the garage.

2005-04-08T18:25:00.000-07:00

I love my College Republicans.

A♥

2005-04-06T20:34:00.000-07:00

I almost bought a bright pink hula hoop at Wal-Mart just now.

Shoot, I should've gotten it. I could be hula hooping right now. Instead of doing what I'm doing, which is pretty much nothing. Dangit.

2005-04-03T03:56:00.000-07:00

So just to recap, the OFCR (Oregon Federation of College Republicans) conference in Sunriver this weekend was crazy, and not in a good way. I still can't believe the stuff that went on and the tempers that flared and... ugh, the people that won. All I can say is, nobody messes with the UO College Republicans. Nobody.

I left Sunriver feeling very negative and bitter but fortunately, the "Official F**k the OFCR Party" at Christine's tonight was tons of fun and ended the whole thing on a happier note. I still can't believe everything that happened today, though. To quote A-Warren, "Did this all happen today??" Yeah.

Ummmmm, happy daylight savings time - SPRING FORWARD!! So all of a sudden, it's 3 AM instead of 2 AM and I need to get to bed.

Goodnight. Don't let the bed bugs bite. And if they do, take your shoe and WHACK 'EM 'TIL THEY'RE BLACK & BLUE!!!!!!!! (Don't worry, it's just the lasting effects of boarding school. Nothing too serious.)

P.S. I'm getting my wisdom teeth pulled on the morning of April 22nd, which is 8 days before my birthday. In case I don't live to see my 20th year, please celebrate it without me.

For now, though, it definitely hurts to chew because I have teeth coming in in the back of my mouth. Ow.

2005-03-29T22:35:00.000-08:00

Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those that trespass against us,
Although them again we will never, never, never trust.

Forgive them, Father, for they know not what they do,
Forgive them, forgive them.

~ Lauryn Hill

2005-03-24T00:09:00.000-08:00

"Yet when I surveyed all that my hands had done and what I had toiled to achieve, everything was meaningless, a chasing after the wind; nothing was gained under the sun." ~ Ecclesiastes 2:11

My grandma and I spent the day today looking at homes. Rich peoples' homes. She's an interior designer and does this stuff for a living... Get this, she just finished re-doing the floor in a client's house with some fancy shmancy flooring... uhh... stuff... and it cost them $32,000. Holy mother... That's, like, 60 times what I paid for my car. And she hasn't even started on the rest of the house yet.

Anywho, the point is, she deals with these ritzy rich people every day (partly because she is one of them and can relate to them). I, however, grew up in Africa and *GASP* I even use public restrooms.

So we looked at homes all day, crazy rich homes, and we critiqued them. Apparently, I have an eye, which doesn't surprise me because my grandma has a pretty good eye. An eye that has become rather extravagant but still, an eye. Some of the homes we looked at, holy doody, they were insane. Finally, in one of the bigger homes, she mentioned something about how she would love to own a home like that one day and I said, rather plainly, "I really would never want to live in anything this fancy, this big, or this expensive."

"Oh."

It's weird to me, how the tendency is to always want bigger, better, more features, more options, more, more, more. I just have no desire for any of that stuff. Sure, there's stuff I want that I don't really need, but the idea of paying $32,000 for your floor makes me want to vomit. Give me the worn wood floors and the tattered brown carpets in the old, familiar Alipaz house any day.

Speaking of which, I went to Visalia and visited Mike & Carol Alipaz on Monday, which was great. I always love going there because it's the only house that's been there ever since I was a little kid. I've lived in it for periods of time, I've ridden their horses, I've swam in their pool for hours on end, and it's just one of the best places in the world to go back to. It was different this time, though. I've always been there with my parents or with my brother before. This time, I went alone, as an adult. One of those turning points, small but significant to me.

I just realized that I'm turning 20 next month. Yup. The weirdest part of that is when I start thinking that, if I'm 20, Josh must be almost 23. It's strange... The first image that comes to mind when I think of my brother is when he was 11 years old and he shaved his head, when we lived in Switzerland. In my mental image, he's wearing these short little black jean shorts pulled clear up past his belly button and his ears are protruding from his head even more than usual, due to the lack of hair. I think he's grown into his ears since then. Today, I saw an old black and white picture of my dad at that age. He had those same huuge ears.

Anywho, I'm going up to visit Auntie 'Nita and Uncle Daryl tomorrow so I should go to sleep. Smaxwell (Max) is laying at the foot of my bed, sleeping peacefully. I miss my Henry, who's probably sleeping on my bed back in Eugene right now. He has his half of the bed and I have mine but when I'm not there, he usually sleeps in my place, curled up on my pillow. He knows he's not supposed to but I just can't get over how cute it is. Some would say that it gets dog on my pillow but I say, hey, dog is on everything else, why not the pillow?

I wuv you Hinnykin. I wuv Smax too though. I think I'll just wuv you both. Yeah, let's do that.

:kiss: :kiss:

2005-03-20T21:42:00.000-08:00

It's been a while since I've listened to Live. As I was listening to them today, I remembered why they're my favorite band: they're awesome. That's pretty much it. So this is my song of the moment, the one I have on repeat...

Dance With You by Live

Sitting on the beach
The island king of love
Deep in Fijian Seas
Deep in some blissful dream

Where the goddess finally sleeps
In the lap of her lover
Subdued in all her rage
And I'm aglow with the taste of the demons driven out
And happily replaced with the presence of real love
The only one who saves

I wanna dance with you
I see a world where people live and die with grace
The karmic ocean dried up and leave no trace

I wanna dance with you
I see a sky full of the stars that change our minds
And lead us back to a world we would not face

The stillness in your eyes
Convinces me that I
I don't know a thing

And I been around the world
And I've tasted all the wines a half a billion times
Came sickened to your shores
You show me what this life is for

I wanna dance with you
I see a world where people live and die with grace
The karmic ocean dried up and leave no trace

I wanna dance with you
I see a sky full of the stars that change our minds
And lead us back to a world we would not face

In this altered state
Full of so much pain and rage
You know we got to find a way to let it go

Sittin' on the beach
The island king of love
Deep in Fijian Seas

Deep in the heart of it all where the goddess finally sleeps
After eons of war and lifetimes
She smilin' and free, nothin' left
But a cracking voice and a song, oh Lord

I wanna dance with you
I see a world where people live and die with grace
The karmic ocean dried up and leave no trace

I wanna dance with you
I see a sky full of the stars that change our minds
And lead us back to a world we would not face...

We would not face...

We would not face...

We would not face...

P.S. Yesterday was the 2-year anniversary of the beginning of the war in Iraq. Take that, terrorist biatches! Apparently there were a bunch of anti-war protests going on, which I missed out on because I'm NOT IN EUGENE!!!! Hahahahaha... You can protest the war all you want. Good luck getting it to end after two years of acheiving our goals.

Yup, liberals are still stupid.

2005-03-17T23:48:00.000-08:00

I decided to boycott St. Patrick's Day. Here's why.

1) It has a horrible name. Saint Patrick, that's about the biggest oxymoron ever. Some of you know why, some of you don't, but it's just a bad name all around. Ugh. That's about all I'm saying on the matter here.

2) It freaks me out. When I was a little kid, they would put green dye in the toilets at school and we would take a field trip (of sorts) to the bathroom, where the teacher would yell, "OH! THERE GOES A LEPRACHAUN!!" And then would point to the green pee water as proof. I spent many, many years being freaked out of leprachauns in the bathroom. That is, until I moved to Africa and someone said that snakes could come up the toilet drain. Suddenly, leprachauns weren't so bad. (I still check for snakes.)

3) I forgot about it today. Why? Because it's a pretty useless holiday. I didn't even think to wear green. (And nobody pinched me, take THAT.) I didn't even know it was coming. I wasn't even aware that it hadn't already happened. Something named "St. Patrick's Day" just doesn't deserve to be on my radar, I'm sorry. Except not really.

4) Because. Yup, just because. Four reasons are better than three, or so they say.

No, they don't really.

It's a metaphor.

But it actually happened, though.

Well... it's time to separate the wheat from the chaff, the men from the boys, the awkwardly feminine from the possibly Canadian. Good night, all.

...by the way, does anyone know where my Dodgeball DVD went??

2005-03-17T16:32:00.000-08:00

This is what's up in Tucktown:

Tuesday, 10:30 PM: My grandma called from Fresno, said, "Hey Mel, you want to come visit for your Easter break?" I said, "Yes!" She said, "Okay, can you find a flight for tomorrow?" I said, "Holy cow, uhh, okay.."

11:00 PM: I called American Airlines to redeem their Advantage points for a free flight.

11:30 PM: I had my ticket.

ALL NIGHT: Packing, working, taking care of stuff, etc.

Wednesday, 10:00 AM: Got in my car, drove up to Portland to the airport.

12:00 PM: Got to the airport with time to kill. Read almost half of the book I Love You, Ronnie, which is a book by Nancy Reagan about Ronnie's love letters to her throughout the years. I cried reading it, which is rare. If you know me very well at all, you know that my family accuses me of having a heart of stone because I don't cry very often. Anyway, good book. Read it. You can borrow it from me.

4:30 PM: Delayed flight, finally left PDX.

6:45 PM: Walked to baggage claim, a grandparent on each arm.

So I'm in Fresno until the 26th. I fly back to Portland around noon and then I'm going to the Blazer game in the evening. Even though I'm not a Blazer fan. Dangit, too bad my Laker jersey is in Eugene! Hahaha... Oh well, I guess I'll have to wear something Republican instead. If I can't make Blazer fans hate me, I at least have to try my best to make Liberals hate me!

Oh by the way, cute Dorchester picture:

I love Jenny and Jenna. Haha, I just realized that they're both Jennifers.. that's funny.. only not really.. anyway. Yeah. Just look at the picture and admire Neil's sunglasses, which I wore inside all night long. I'm cool like that, yeah.

IMPORTANT: Who has the picture of me and Jenna kissing Nik? I want that picture, whoever's camera it was.

2005-03-15T14:46:00.000-08:00

So about a month ago, I got 7 inches of my hair cut off. I took a before picture but I never got around to taking an after picture until today.

Gotta love SuperCuts. I also got a hair straightener so that's why my hair's so much, uhh, straighter. But yeah, most people didn't really notice because my hair's still pretty long. Anywho, it's easier to manage and, when I leave it curly, it's pretty short, which is a fun feeling. But yeah.

2005-03-07T22:18:00.000-08:00

Soooo, AMAZING weekend at the Dorchester conference in Seaside this weekend!! Nikster, you're not my only OSU friend anymore! :winky: Hey, I'm living proof that you can have schloads of fun and not drink alcohol... I get my high from water, LOL.

Slept on the beach Saturday night, which was just about the coolest thing ever. A♥ Sand everywhere, though. I still have sand in my hair, even though I just washed it.

Umm.. Oh, I also managed to pull my left arm partly out of its socket this weekend. It didn't hurt at all at the time but right now, I'm having a lot of trouble lifting my arm very high, especially when I have to change clothes. Maybe I'll just put on my pajamas and stay that way until my arm is better. Yess.

Heh, we had the awesomest dance party EVER on the ride home in Jenny's car. ONE TWO STEP! Hollaaaaaa... WHO LET THE DOGS OUT?! Here's to my girls.. Yeah, you guessed it, I'm doin' the windshield wiper dance! It's a rainbow!

I love you guys. Republicans are the BEST.

2005-02-27T23:43:00.000-08:00

I read the following passage a couple of weeks ago and it has stuck with me ever since. It's kinda long but it's worth it.

From: Mere Christianity by C.S. Lewis

"I hope no reader will suppose that 'mere' Christianity is here put forward as an alternative to the creeds of the existing communions - as if a man could adopt it in preference to Congregationalism or Greek Orthodoxy or anything else. It is more like a hall out of which doors open into several rooms. If I can bring anyone into that hall I shall have done what I attempted. But it is in the rooms, not in the hall, that there are fires and chairs and meals. The hall is a place to wait in, a place from which to try the various doors, not a place to live in. For that purpose the worst of the rooms (whichever that may be) is, I think, preferable.

"It is true that some people may find they have to wait in the hall for a considerable time, while others feel certain almost at once which door they must knock at. I do not know why there is this difference, but I am sure God keeps no one waiting unless He sees that it is good for him to wait. When you do get to your room you will find that the long wait has done you some kind of good which you would not have had otherwise. But you must regard it as waiting, not as camping. You must keep on praying for light: and, of course, even in the hall, you must begin trying to obey the rules which are common to the whole house. And above all you must be asking which door is the true one; not which pleases you best by its paint and panelling. In plain language, the question should never be: 'Do I like that kind of service?' but 'Are the doctrines true: Is holiness here? Does my concience move me towards this? Is my reluctance to knock at this door due to my pride, or my mere taste, or my personal dislike of this particular door-keeper?

"When you have reached your own room, be kind to those who have chosen different doors and to those who are still in the hall. If they are wrong they need your prayers all the more; and if they are your enemies, then you are under orders to pray for them. That is one of the rules common to the whole house."

I like to read the last couple of sentences of a book before I read the actual book.. The end of Mere Christianity is especially good:

"Look for yourself, and you will find in the long run only hatred, loneliness, dispair, rage, ruin, and decay. But look for Christ and you will find Him, and with Him everything else thrown in."

Just a little glance into the mind of Tuck...

2005-02-25T20:29:00.000-08:00

I'm a survivor,
I'm not gonna give up
I'm not gon' stop,
I'm gonna work harder
I'm a survivor, I'm gonna make it
I will survive, keep on survivin!

I'm wishin' you the best,
pray that you are blessed
Much success, no stress, and lots of happiness

I'm better than that
I'm not gonna blast you on the radio
I'm better than that
I'm not gonna lie on you or your family
I'm better than that
I'm not gonna hate on you in the magazine
I'm better than that
I'm not gonna compromise my christianity
I'm better than that
You know I'm not gonna diss you on the internet
'Cause my mama taught me better than that

I'm a survivor,
I'm not gonna give up
I'm not gon' stop,
I'm gonna work harder
I'm a survivor, I'm gonna make it
I will survive, keep on survivin!

After all of the darkness and sadness,
soon comes happiness
If I surround myself with positive things,
I'll gain prosperity

I'm a survivor,
I'm not gonna give up
I'm not gon' stop,
I'm gonna work harder
I'm a survivor, I'm gonna make it
I will survive, keep on survivin!

2005-02-24T00:02:00.000-08:00

I think I'm going to throw up. Soon. Just wanted to keep you informed.

You're welcome, anytime.

2005-02-22T21:33:00.000-08:00

Letting the Cables Sleep by Bush

You in the dark
You in the pain
You on the run
Living a hell
Living your ghost
Living your end

Never seem to get in the place that I belong
Don't wanna lose the time
Lose the time to come

Whatever you say it's alright
Whatever you do it's all good
Whatever you say it's alright
Silence is not the way
We need to talk about it
If heaven is on the way
If heaven is on the way

You in the sea
On a decline
Breaking the waves
Watching the lights go down
Letting the cables sleep

Whatever you say it's alright
Whatever you do it's all good
Whatever you say it's alright
Silence is not the way
We need to talk about it
If heaven is on the way
We'll wrap the world around it
If heaven is on the way
If heaven is on the way

I'm a stranger in this town
I'm a stranger in this town

If heaven is on the way
If heaven is on the way
I'm a stranger in this town
I'm a stranger in this town

2005-02-13T12:30:00.001-08:00

GRR it happened again. I forgot that I was still online and, since I wasn't chatting with anybody, I didn't sign off until 12:25, when Anthony IM'd me and told me what a bad Catholic I am... I'm still getting used to this...

2005-02-13T12:30:00.000-08:00

RR it happened again. I forgot that I was still online and, since I wasn't chatting with anybody, I didn't sign off until 12:25, when Anthony IM'd me and told me what a bad Catholic I am... I'm still getting used to this...

2005-02-12T00:26:00.000-08:00

So, I gave up AIM-after-midnight for Lent. Lent started, uhh, two days ago.

Shoot.

I already slipped. I got home tonight after Onyx House at about 12:15 and the first thing I did was sign on to AIM, completely out of habit. I was only on for about 20 seconds, though, because as soon as I realized what I was doing, I gasped out loud and signed off right away. Sorry, Jesus!

2005-02-09T22:42:00.000-08:00

So, today is Ash Wednesday. Being fairly new to Catholicism, I'm still catching on to some of the traditions. This year is full of firsts for me. I've never had ashes smeared on my forehead for Ash Wednesday before, I've never given anything up for Lent before, and I've never fasted on Fridays during Lent before. I'm jumpin' in this year, doin' it all.

It took me a good long while to figure out something I could give up for Lent. It's not supposed to be anything that is harmful to you, such as smoking or swearing (both of which I use in excess... ha, not). It's supposed to be something that you give up as a small sacrifice to God, in order to learn to appreciate more deeply the ultimate sacrifice Christ paid for our sins.

Then, it came to me. What do I do late at night every night? Shut up, get your mind OUT of the gutter. Jeez. ... I usually stay up until 2 or 3 in the morning, chatting on Instant Messenger with friends. Often just one friend (whose favorite number is 15). So I thought about giving up AIM altogether but then I decided that was too extreme. So, in the end, I'm giving up the use of AIM after midnight every night. At 12:00 AM every day for 40 days (until Easter), I will sign off of AIM as my lenten discipline.

Being Catholic is so cool.

[SO CUTE!!]

2005-02-04T00:26:00.000-08:00

So, my away message on Instant Messenger this evening read, "Out playing hide and seek with Osama Bin Laden. Dang he's good!" Needless to say, I got some comments, which is always entertaining. One comment in particular stood out.

Josh Kagi, upon seeing my away message, came up with a brilliant idea of how to help do away with some of our national debt. He later wrote the following in his blog:

National Debt Solution

Okay okay okay... I know the perception is out there that Republicans don't give a crap about the National Debt. Well, I do. So, in all my wisdom (with the inspiration of Melissa) I came up with an ingenues way to cut the debt in at least half.

We don't kill Osama when we capture him.

Yeah yeah yeah... I know the troops will want to light him up, and frankly I don't blame them, but they MUST resist. Why? Because we're going to put Osama on a world wide tour!

We will chain him up, set up a booth, and watch the line form.... I can see the sign now! "Kick Osama in the Balls! $10"

I'd spend hundreds! (If every American citizen paid their "portion" of the debt, it's something like $16,000 a piece). So... the Debt won't go away, but a big portion of it will be gone without cutting anything... other than Osama!

2005-02-02T01:25:00.000-08:00

DISCLAIMER: The following is a rant. In this rant, I will address topics which may be considered controversial and will undoubtedly offend some people. However, I can write whatever the heck I want.

So.

Through a series of events tonight, it has come to my attention that there is a person who attends our stunningly diverse University of Oregon who claims to be neither a male nor a female. An undecided transgender, you might call this person, although by no means do I claim to be an expert in such terminology. For the purposes of this rant, I shall refer to this person as It.

It is accusing the Oregon Commentator (conservative paper on campus) of referring to It as he, even though It made it clear that It should be referred to using the pronoun zie, or something along those lines. You may notice that I am refraining from referring to It as zie. That is because the pronoun zie is nonexistent, unless you're using some other language, which, last time I checked... we're speaking English here.

You may ask yourself, why is this even an issue? Why the heck does anyone care? Because we are in Eugene, where issues such as these are of great concern to the predominately dirty liberal population.

In closing, I leave you with the following direct quote from Tyler Nachtman's away message:

"I have solved the problem of this gender neutral pronoun calamity. I am going to refer to everyone that wants me to refer to them in some special way as "Douche." That way I am not assuming they are male or female. I know several male "douches" and several female "douches." So if you cannot decide whether or not you are male or female, chances are you are a "douche." In fact I may just start to refer to everyone as "douche," just to be cautious, with the exception of Melissa Tucker, who of course is "the shit" and I will continue to refer to her as such. God I hate the UofO..."

As far as I know, not many liberals read my blog... but to the one who does *cough - David - cough* I can't wait to hear your comments!

2005-01-30T21:03:00.000-08:00

Well, Iraq had their first elections in five decades today. It's crazy to think that we've come this far already.. it seems like just yesterday, my family spent the Spring Break watching the beginning of the war - Shock & Awe - on the news. Time flies, you just have to keep up.

So much has happened since the war in Iraq started. It's hard to put it into words, all I can say is that you would have to be a true cynic not to appreciate the true sincerity of what happened on this monumental day in Iraq.

Yay!

2005-01-28T01:45:00.000-08:00

Almost there... Almost there... You can do it...

My car reached 229,000 miles today. The distance to the moon is 238,856 miles. I'm almost to the moon! Yeehaw... It's been a helluva ride, too.

Oy, now I'm still gonna have to go back to earth once I reach the moon. Oh well, if the ride back to earth is half as interesting as the ride to the moon, I'll consider it a bargain.

2005-01-25T17:10:00.000-08:00

Read this story...

A young woman was about to finish her first year of college. Like so many others her age she considered herself to be a very liberal Democrat and was for distribution of all wealth.

She felt deeply ashamed that her father was a rather staunch Republican, which she expressed openly. One day she was challenging her father on his beliefs and his opposition to higher taxes on the rich and the addition of more government welfare programs.

Based on the lectures that she had participated in and the occasional chat with a professor she felt that for years her father had obviously harbored an evil, even selfish desire to keep what he thought should be his. The self-professed objectivity proclaimed by her professors had to be the truth and she indicated so to her father.

He stopped her and asked her point blank, how she was doing in school. She answered rather haughtily that she had a 4.0 GPA, and let him know that it was tough to maintain. That she studied all the time and never had time to go out and party like other people she knew. She didn't even have time for a boyfriend and didn't really have many college friends because of spending all her time studying.

Her father listened and then asked, "How is your good friend Mary doing?" She replied, & Mary is barely getting by; She continued, "She barely has a 2.0 GPA, "adding, and all she takes are easy classes and she never studies; "But Mary is so very popular on campus, college for her is a blast, she goes to all the parties all the time and very often doesn't even show up for classes because she is too hung over."

Her father then asked his daughter, "Why don't you go to the Dean's Office and ask him to deduct a 1.0 off your 4.0 GPA and give it to your friend who only has a 2.0." He continued, "That way you will both have a 3.0 GPA and certainly that would be a fair and equal distribution of GPA. " The daughter visibly shocked by her father's suggestion angrily fired back, "That wouldn't be fair! I worked really hard for mine, I did without and Mary has done little or nothing, she played while I worked real hard!"

The father slowly smiled, winked and said, "Welcome to the Republican Party."

2005-01-24T23:56:00.000-08:00

You know how some days, the only thing that can sum things up is a song? This is one of those days, and the song is Glycerine by Bush.

Glycerine

Must be your skin that I’m sinking in
Must be for real 'cause now I can feel
And I didn’t mind
It’s not my kind
Not my time to wonder why

Everything’s gone white
And everything’s grey
Now you’re here, now you’re away
I don’t want this, remember that
I’ll never forget where you’re at
Don’t let the days go by
Glycerine

I’m never alone
I’m alone all the time
Are you at one
Or do you lie
We live in a wheel
Where everyone steals
But when we rise it’s like strwaberry fields

I treated you bad
You bruise my face
Couldn’t love you more
You got a beautiful taste

Don’t let the days go by
Could have been easier on you
I couldn’t change though I wanted to
Could have been easier by three
Our old friend fear and you and me
Glycerine

Don’t let the days go by
Glycerine

I needed you more
When we wanted us less
I could not kiss, just regress
It might just be
Clear simple and plain
That’s just fine
That’s just one of my names

Don’t let the days go by
Could’ve been easier on you
Glycerine...

2005-01-23T01:48:00.000-08:00

Things I Dislike

• Polyester Bathmats. What can I say, I hate stepping out of the shower onto a bathmat that's not 100% cotton. Polyester doesn't absorb water so you wind up having to stand on a bathmat in which a puddle of water is rapidly accumulating. That water gets cold and the whole nice feeling of a warm shower goes to waste because your feet are now freezing from the cold, polyester-infested water. I had a polyester bathmat once. Once. It was when I lived in Switzerland when I was 16... one day, I took the polyester bathmat, threw it out of the third-story window, and went bathmatless for the rest of my stay there. (Yes, I did bring it back inside. But I didn't use it.)

• "Rural." What kind of word is that? Say it out loud. Rural. It's just ugly and uncomfortable to pronounce. "Rural" should be banned from the English language.

• John Travolta's Dimple. How did he become so rich and famous with that huge dimple staring everybody in the face all the time? When I see it, I feel like it's screaming at me, "Ha ha, take that! I have beat all the odds and now, you have to stare at me for eternity!" It's like the dimple is trying to make me feel inferior. Ouch.

• Teal and Camel (the colors). Teal. What is it? Blue or green? Green or blue? Is it anything? I think it should be nothing. It's not a natural color. And camel. Does nobody else think of diarrhea when they see the color camel? Is it just me?

• Flaming Liberals in the Media. Yeah, you knew there had to be something political in here somewhere. Well, liberals in general, I can get along with them. Some of my good friends are liberals. However, flaming libs have no place in the media. Whether it's reporters that have a liberal agenda or Hollywood actors, do everybody a favor and keep it to yourself. And if you are one of those people (do they even exist? I'm not even sure) that actually looks to actors and musicians for political advice, well.. yeah. You know what I'm thinking.

• Ice In My Drink. Here I am, rehydrating myself, and I find that there is ice in my drink. First of all, it slows down the hydration process astronomically. Second, ice gives me toothaches when it's banging up against my teeth incessantly. The only ice exception is the slushy kind that you get at pizza places, which I do enjoy quite a bit.

• "Often" Pronounced Like "Offin." There's a "t" in there for a reason, it's because you're supposed to pronounce it. You know what "offin" sounds like? German. And, as we all know, German is ugly... no offense if you're German. I have unhappy memories associated with the language, like Madame Schluppe, one of my many 3rd grade teachers (again, in Switzerland) who used to yell at me and pull my ears in class because I didn't speak French. (Schluppe was Swiss German but spoke French as well.) Yeah, Schluppeface (as we so fondly call her now), that's why I'm in your class: to learn French. (After a couple of weeks of her, my parents uprooted their whole lives to move across town so I could go to a different school.) So, that, combined withg the fact that German just sounds like a flushing toilet full of Schluppe gunk, I don't like German.

I think that pretty much sums it up. It's not very often that you hear a rant from me that's not about politics or hippies, heh... :laughing:

2005-01-21T11:25:00.000-08:00

Look who's on the front page of the Emerald again!

Check out the article here (my dad is quoted in the article).

Also, the Chant blog I wrote yesterday? I sent it to the Emerald and, yup, they published it in the Editorial section. Check it out: Anti-Bush Advocates Chant Literary Gold. They did edit a couple of things though.. they took out the word "baby-killing" and they took out the "Hey, hey! Ho, ho!" chant. That's okay, though. I'm still happy!

And of course, let us not forget December 3rd, 2004, when Anthony and I first graced the front page of the Emerald holding our "Peace Through Superior Firepower" signs at an Anti-War rally...

ROCK ON!

2005-01-20T16:30:00.000-08:00

Chants. I love them. Anybody who knows anything about me knows that I love chants. Have you ever seen me NOT chanting about something under my breath? My life is almost like an ongoing chant show. Chants are awesome. (yes, I'm being sarcastic).

So, after the inauguration this morning, I decided to flip the channel from my beloved Fox News to C-Span 2. What were they showing? Yes, you guessed it, chants. Some liberal organization set up camp in D.C. to protest the inauguration of President Bush and, let me tell you, they had some freakin' amazing chants. Here are some of my very favorites.

"Bush, Cheney, what do you say? How many kids did you kill today?" ...How many kids did you kill today, pro-abortion, baby-killing liberals?

"Bush is killing by the hour; what do we do? Fight the power!" You do that. Just know what we already won.

"George Bush, you can't hide; we charge you with genocide!" Okay.. How about charging Saddam Hussein with genocide? Can we start there?

"No justice, no peace! U.S. out of the Middle East!" My vote was for getting the terrorists out of the Middle East... Wait, what? Bush won the elections?

"Hey, hey! Ho, ho! This racist war has got to go!" Last time I checked, it was called "Operation Iraqi Freedom." Sound racist to you? Yeah, me neither. I like the creative use of "Hey, hey! Ho, ho!" there though.

"Racist, sexist, anti-gay! Bush, Cheney, go away!" Sexist? Does the name Condoleezza Rice ring a bell? Oh, and she's also black? Hmmh. Funky.

These are just a few of the very best chants from today's anti-Inauguration hooplah. These guys have some amazing skills, I tell you. I can pretty much guarantee you that most anything they can fit to that beat will come out sounding pretty freakin' amazing. Seriously. I mean, these chants are so good, I find myself chanting them under my breath even though I support the Bush administration. Rock on, liberals.

Just remember, no matter what you do, no matter how much you chant, no matter how many protest parties you throw, we won. That's it. Today, January 20th, 2005, it was made official. 4 more years, baby.

2005-01-19T23:55:00.000-08:00

They say if you love something, let it go. If it comes back to you, it's yours forever. If it doesn't, then it was never meant to be. Sounds like a wise saying, right? In theory, yes. However, I have yet to find a concrete example that proves it to be true. So, in the mean time, don't use that saying on me... because I'll just tell you to buzz off and prove it to me first.

On a different note, tomorrow (or today, i guess, since it's after midnight) is the inauguration of President Bush. Yeehaw. Look who's getting up early to watch it live... yeah, that's right, me.

In honor of our crazy liberal earthmates, check out this cartoon, called Depresed Democrats.

2005-01-19T02:33:00.000-08:00

Your love is... by ChibiMarronchan
Your name is...
Your kiss is...	delicious
Your hugs are...	gentle
Your eyes...	light up a day
Your touch is...	heart warming
Your smell is...	beautiful
Your smile is...	entrancing
Your love is...	everlasting

Quiz created with MemeGen!