Note to self

I've realized recently that creativity and compassion flow more freely and easily in me when I don't have a partner.  Maybe that's because I function better solo, or maybe it's because I haven't found the right person to be with.  Either way, right now, I am my favorite manifestation of Mary that I've ever been. (Coincidentally, if I look back on my pattern of joyousness and depression, I find that I am always most joyous when single, and always most depressed when involved with someone).  And so, I want to remember how I'm feeling, what I'm doing, and why I'm living, and make sure that all those answers can be just as easily manifest in the next relationship I embark in.

It's the way you go nah nah nah,
M

Maybe I mentioned this in another blog post, but last summer, I had a conversation with AB and MM in which I told them I fully expected to die single.  That thought used to really scare me, but I've made peace with my life and my divorce, particularly over the past year or so.  And now, actually, the thought of being involved with someone from now til the day I die is suddenly really unappealing.  Of course, that could simply be due to the fact that I've mostly dated people who are obviously not good matches for me in the long run.  ;-)

Before you make an ass of yourself...

When you argue with me (or anyone), I don't mind if you have a different opinion.  However, I do mind if you have clearly not researched what you are saying.  

Do we really think that there is no such thing as racism anymore?  Or that if there is, do we think it's not actually a product of generation upon generation of social conditioning set in place by our forefathers who based an entire country, an entire economy on slavery?  Is this really what we think?  Oh, it is?  Aw, okay.  You simply exhibit a really bad case of White Privilege.  Oh, you don't know what that is?  That's alright.  If you knew what White Privilege was, you wouldn't be exhibiting it, because it's fucking disgusting.  

Once you are actually educated about what racism is, where it comes from, and why it exists, then we can continue the argument.  Until then, for your own sake, make an effort not to voice your really ignorant opinion.  Because otherwise you will end up looking like a big, douchy, uneducated, white privileged, racist-but-too-thick-skulled-to-be-aware-of-it, asshole.  Kind of like this girl:

For the love of all things pure and holy.  READ A FUCKING BOOK.  Or at least a Wikipedia entry for Chrissake.

My favorite thing in the world is when people who are so utterly wrong about something insist on voicing their opinion at the top of their lungs.  Like, maybe if they talk about it louder than everyone else, then suddenly the very wrong thing that they're saying will become infallibly right.  How convenient!  I will keep that in mind the next time I am losing an argument.  I'll just speak louder than the person I'm arguing with.  Problem solved!  Man I wish I would have figured that one out years ago.

Oh, oh, here's another favorite thing of mine.  When someone is so mind-blowingly stubborn, that they refuse to see the truth in an argument even when it's staring at them in the face.  And if they do choose to see it, they accept it in such a begrudging manner that it's really almost embarrassing.  Guilty, my friends!  I was upsettingly stubborn for a very large portion of my life.  Ironically, the Stubborn phase of my life happened to coincide almost flawlessly with my White Privilege phase.  Thank God I didn't post a damn youtube video.  However, I can certainly recall with a stinging poignancy several things that I did or said out loud that I'd be more than happy to take back today.

Now.  If everyone would just buy a plane ticket to somewhere they've never been, we'd all be living in a happier world.

I remember

I remember someone I fell in love with a very long time ago.  I wondered for a moment how I could have forgotten, but isn't it so easy to forget something that pains you so, in the end?  They tell me 'tis better to have loved and lost...

"Well met, well met," said an old true love.
"Well met, well met," said he.
"I have just returned from the salt, salt sea,
And it's all for the love of thee."

Lah-dee-dah, Skippity dooo

I love babies and so should youuuu

Wait.

Sometimes, I think that I want babies more than anything.  But then I remember that I'd actually rather have a new ipod or visit San Francisco.  So, life is pretty good right now with the whole fulfilling selfish desires and whatnot.

Faith in the Present

The West is so appealing to me.  The mountains, the people, the weather, the trees; all of it seems romantic and majestic and far away.

I am a Taurus.  Now, I don't know how much stock I put into astrology, but I will say this -- I exhibit several Taurian qualities to a t.  One of those qualities is that I love, love, love being social and experiencing new things, but another is that, dammit, I just don't want to leave my house sometimes.  Actually, right now is one of those times.  I really only want to be left alone to nest and meditate.  Anyway, I digress.  The point of me saying all that is simply that I find the West coast to be a beautifully attractive area of the country and it calls so strongly to me from time to time... but I am not leaving the Southeast.

We are overpopulated, sprawling, bigoted, less progressive, not as good at managing our natural resources, and probably a little more unappealingly work-centric than our fellow surfers and ski bums of the West.

But this is home.

I like fried eggs and grits, and cotton farms and peach orchards.  I like our little mountains (or, in Florida's case, our entire lack of mountains altogether).  I like Alabama.  And I like Florida.  Despite the fact that both states have ridiculous governors and are full of some of the most racist people I've ever met.

One time, I saw this couple at the tea lounge that I frequent.  The guy was a know-it-all religion major at USF and found it necessary to tell his girlfriend (quite loudly) that Tampa was essentially a hopeless shithole of a city and that it only made sense for them to move to another, more suitable city.  Anyway, later on, I walked over to the girl after her boyfriend had left and we started talking about community.  I told her I thought it was ridiculous to leave a place because you thought it was hopeless.  The only way that a place generates hope is if the people who are most capable of giving it hope... don't actually leave! She agreed and said that's what she'd been trying to explain to her boyfriend.  We both spoke of the current beauty of Tampa (if you only look further than skin-deep) and of this city's potential to become a bright beacon of exemplary community behavior for other Florida cities -- if only we would stay here and offer the city what hope we had to give it.

I see hope in the southeast.  Hope for a brighter future for the poor and uneducated of Mississippi, hope for clean shorelines in Florida, hope for a better state government of Alabama, hope for better water resource management in Atlanta, and hope for an overall progression of social and natural resource beauty in these states.  I see this hope on the horizon, and its manifestation is coming soon.

It must come soon.

We are all one community, we are all neighbors, we are all family.  What the southeast does matters to you, whether you move to Seattle or not.  You cannot ignore us.  You cannot turn a blind eye by moving to your more suitable, progressive Western city and simply forgetting about Tampa or Biloxi or Atlanta or Birmingham.

I have something to offer this part of my family; I have knowledge and love and I want badly to offer it to the Southeast with no motive besides that of compassion -- so that we have no choice but to use the knowledge and love in order to progress toward becoming better neighbors toward our fellow citizens across the country and across the globe.

We only have one option,
M

A Fair Balance.  Co-operation, not competition, in work, communications, and economics; the sharing of information and ideas so that all people can learn and live sustainably.  It must start with you -- having faith in where you presently reside.

A time to cry, a time to laugh

As I grow older and experience more life, I come to believe more and more firmly that the ultimate road to happiness, peace, and love is the road of balance. The middle path, if you will.

I'm not talking about compromise; I'm talking about co-operation. Insight. Compassion. Love. Contentment. Future planning. The Ultimate Good. I'm talking about looking at what you've been given at 28 and deciding that you will make something out of it, even if it's not what you had planned at 22. I'm talking about being thankful for what exists. I'm talking about not being bullheaded and complaining about things you disagree with. I'm talking... about balance.

And don't I just sound like a spineless hippie, hm? "Balance, shmalance. I believe in something and so should everyone else! There is only one way to take care of this, and coincidentally, it's my way!" No. There are multiple ways to take care of one matter, and there are multiple viewpoints on one subject, and there are multiple solutions to one problem, and they can all be valid. Your own answer is not the right one. Because -- and this may come as a surprise (it certainly did to me several years ago) -- the world is not an algebra equation. What's true on your page of looseleaf paper in your math class does not equal what's true in life. In life, not every time does A squared plus B squared equal C squared.

Can't we all take a step back and realize this? Can't we all... (at the risk of sounding like a total damn hippie)... just get along? Your answer is not the right one. And neither is mine! But together we can manifest something beautiful that we can all live with and work for.

And maybe I am just idealistic. Maybe I can't actually get everyone in the world to change their road of bullheaded thinking to a road of co-operative balance.

But Ghandi told me to be the change I wish to see in the world. And so I am choosing to walk down my middle path, and to walk down it with hope for the future, with love, and with as much compassion as I can possibly muster in a culture convinced that the duality of black and white is the truth.

He hath made everything beautiful in His time,
M

Dust thou art, and to dust thou shalt return

I like religion.

I like its traditions, I like its strong sense of community, I like its words and poetry.  I like religious people; people who beautifully believe in the tie that binds them to one another.  I like churches and temples.  I like congregational singing.  I like the tradition and meaning behind every act that happens in a religion.

I have been happily attending several religious services at various congregations throughout the Tampa Bay area recently.  One religion that I realized I've been ignoring is Catholicism.  We all remember the Catholics at this particular season because of the (in)famous Mardi Gras celebrations.  One of my firm's offices is located in Baton Rouge, and they sent King Cakes to all our other offices last week.  So yesterday, on Fat Tuesday, I had a slice of it (and managed to avoid finding the baby), and I decided that today, I'd like to attend an Ash Wednesday mass.

Downtown Tampa hosts a marvelous parish -- Sacred Heart Catholic Church.  I stayed at work late today, and then drove straight to the church to attend their 7:30 Ash Wednesday mass.  It's always a little weird going to a religious service by yourself, but I guess I've done it enough times to get over that initial urge to turn around and walk right out when you realize that you know no one and have no clue what you are supposed to be doing.  ;-)  I took a seat in the back of the church (without doing the whole holy water sprinkling deal, because I didn't know I was supposed to.  Oops!).  Anyway, as 7:30 drew closer and closer, I got more and more antsy.  I'd only been to one other mass before, and it was last Easter, at a parish in Maryland with my boyfriend.  I kept remembering all the little nuances and acts of kneeling, standing up, sitting down, and talking that took place during that mass, and I suddenly realized that I had the potential to do something really, really wrong if I didn't know what was going on.  I hopped up and found an usher to seek guidance from a couple of minutes before the service began.

"Hi, um, do you guys have like a program?"

"...a what?"

"A program.  ...I'm not Catholic and I've never done this before, so I just want like an itinerary of events so I know what to do or what not to do."

"You aren't Catholic?"

"No sir, I just wanted to experience an Ash Wednesday service."

"Oh!  Oh... alright then.  Uhm, well -- Catholics believe..."

And he went off on a short tangent about Christ physically manifesting himself during a Catholic service, and how we will all return to dust, and that we have the ashes smeared on our heads as a reminder of this truth.  ...And also that I shouldn't take the communion since I'm not a Catholic.  That was pretty much all I needed to know:  what NOT to do in order to keep from offending anyone.  ;-)

The service began, and everyone passed peace between each other (a tradition that I find absolutely charming and something that I think would make our workplaces happier if we did each morning).  We sang songs with the accompaniment of a beautiful organ, said a few touching prayers, and had several verses read to us.  It doesn't actually matter what religious service I attend, I will undoubtedly end up crying at some point.  Tonight it was during the reading of this verse, from the Gospel of Matthew, Chapter 6, verses 1 through 6:

"Take heed that ye do not your alms before men, to be seen of them: otherwise ye have no reward of your Father which is in Heaven.  Therefore, when thou doest thine alms, do not sound a trumpet before thee, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets, that they may have glory of men.  Verily I say unto you, They have their reward.  But when thou doest alms, let not thy left hand know what thy right hand doeth:  That thine alms may be in secret: and thy Father which seeth in secret Himself shall reward thee openly.

And when thou prayest, thou shalt not be as the hypocrites are: for they love to pray standing in the synagogues and in the corners of the streets, that they may be seen of men.  Verily I say unto you, They have their reward.  But thou, when thou prayest, enter into thy closet, and when thou hast shut the door, pray to thy Father in secret; and thy Father which seeth in secret shall reward thee openly."

What a poetic reminder for us to practice generosity for the good of generosity itself, not for the promotion of ourselves and of our kindheartedness.  Those who publicly give shall be publicly rewarded by men, but those who privately give will be openly rewarded by God.

After the readings, one of the priests spoke to us.  He reminded us of the reason that we were all there to begin with:  to recall and reflect upon our vaporic lives, that we are from dust and shall return to dust, and that we are sinners.

Then we received ashes.  I liked receiving ashes.  Everything about a Catholic service is so focused on community as one, not individualistic desires or whims.  We all stood at the same time, we all received the same ashes, we all had the same Latin phrase whispered over us as we received the ashes, we all sang the same song.  I knew no one in the entire church, and yet I felt like they were all my family.

Ashes to Ashes,
M

I'm impressed if you read my rambling blog entry this far.  I suppose it wasn't really for anyone except myself.  I like to think that, one day, I will believe in something so passionately that I will give my entire being to it.  Until then, I'll receive ashes with the understanding that it is a beautiful tradition that I enjoy partaking in, but one that still leaves me feeling just a little empty and just a little ostracized because it's not the full truth of reality.

Then again, maybe it is.

Why I Hate Surprise Parties.

Okay.

I had a phone conversation tonight with M.  And we starting talking about the lameness of showers.  You know, like baby showers and wedding showers.  We both think they're dumb.  "Oh, even though we both probably work full time and have decent incomes, we are going to register for like the most expensive things we can think of and then guilt you into buying them!"  Whatevs.  I hate showers.  I didn't have a wedding shower, a bridal shower, or a lingerie shower... or whatever other type of shower you get when you're engaged.  That shit annoys me so much.

Anyway, so after we bitched about showers, we started talking about birthday parties.  I also hate birthdays.  Not so much other people's birthday parties, just my own.  It is mortifying to me when a group of people sing me happy birthday. I also don't like opening presents in front of everyone.  I don't want to blow out the damn candles and make a wish.  I don't want to read all the cards out loud and then feign gratefulness for the pre-written hallmark words.  I fucking hate birthdays, man.  I just hate them.  I always have.

But here's what I mostly hate:  Surprise birthday parties.  I have always hated the idea of surprise birthday parties, and I haven't sat down and actually contemplated why that is.  But I figured it out tonight during my conversation with M.

I am a Seven in the Enneagram scheme of things.  The Enthusiast.

I like to PLAN.  I am good at planning.  I plan vacations, I plan meals, I plan trips, I plan how to reorganize my furniture, I plan paintings, I plan a bazillion and one projects that I am constantly in the middle of doing.  And I don't want you to do it for me.  I want to be in the loop at all times and be completely aware of what's going on.  And so whhhhyyyyyy would I like surprise birthday parties?!  Wow, a surprise birthday party combines both surprises and birthday parties -- two of my biggest pet peeves in the world!   =P

Friends, make note:  Surprise birthday parties are an epic fail.

Text Message Conversations (Fainting Couches and Lumberjacks)

Not gonna lie; I spent at least 15 minutes at work today painting this picture over text message:



A.N.:  Work any less hectic today?

Me:  I might describe the past week or 2 as "nightmarish" actually.  It's all good though; whatevs.  They don't pay me to sit around and look cute.  Well, they do.  But they also expect some work product as well.

A.N.:  Can they pay you for something you do naturally?

Me:  I've apparently finagled them into doing it.

A.N.:  I imagine you don't have a desk; you just spend all day lounging on a fainting couch.  You're wearing a dress and looking coy.

A.N.:  ...Do I get too specific sometimes?

Me:  The reference to a fainting couch just blew my mind.

A.N.:  Ya, I do that to people sometimes.

Me:  Yes, well.  I've also been known to wear a strand of pearls and smoke cigarettes through a quellazaire.

A.N.: I feel like this scene needs to be painted.

Me:  I would really love to have like a 16x20 oil painting of this scene, with the setting actually in my cubicle.  My co-workers would die.  What a ridiculous juxtaposition.

A.N.:  Every time you say you're at work, I'm going to think of our imaginary portrait of you.  Even if you drastically change jobs.

Me:  I'm considering lumberjacking in Canada.

A.N.:  ...And now the fainting couch is in the woods.  You look the exact same, pearls and all, but you are also holding an axe.

A.N.:  Oh, and could you also have a pet moose?

Me:  I've already commissioned someone to do the painting and specifically asked for a moose.  And my fringed swinger dress will be red plaid.

A.N.:  Can the pearls be emeralds?  And can you be wearing either boots or red heels?

Me:  I don't like the idea of a strand of emeralds, but i could go with like a huge flashy emerald pendant, And stylized leather boots.

A.N.:  Well.  I just thought the emerald would fit nicely with the forest


Aaaaand an update to this text conversation, which carried over into the next day:


Me:  I just had my annual performance review at work.  They asked me to add a strand of pearls and lounge a little more dramatically on the fainting couch.

A.N.:  Another strand?  Things are coming up, Mary!

Me:  I was pleased with my directives for 2011.  *sigh* Wouldn't that be the perfect job, though?  "Mary, you didn't lounge enough last year.  Please make more effort to make less effort in the upcoming year."

A.N.:  That's where you demand in your contract to be fed grapes.

Me:  hahaa "I'd be happy to oblige to your request Tom, but I've simply not been given the proper tools.  I'll need daily facials and personal grape-feeder."

A.N.:  You may as well throw premium parking in there, too.

Me:  They've provided me a personal chariot, actually.