Fact #22

Birthdays are important.


You'll always have friends that will attempt to persuade you that they don't really care about their birthday. They will always be lying. With that:

HAPPY BIRTHDAY CURTIS BELL!

Curtis is the bomb.
But not the dangerous kind.
Let's be friends for life.

Fact #21

If you fall asleep unexpectedly, your face will be wrinkly upon waking.

(Case in point.)

They really need to fund research on that.

Facts #19 and #20

Peace doesn't come comfortably.

and

Sarcasm can be alienating.

I never make my bed. Well, scratch that, I sometimes make my bed, like when I have company, or one corner of the fitted sheet has come undone and I keep getting my elbow stuck in it at night. Otherwise, doesn't happen. I'm not really comfortable in it if I do. I'm like a dog that way. I turn and turn and turn until it's just right. When I make it and try to fall asleep at night, it's like it's saying Um, excuse me, but you don't quite fit. I don't suppose you could sleep on the floor, could you?

I suspect it's rather odd to give dialogue to your furniture...but I digress.

Anyway, I nest. I have to get settled. I fidget in armchairs, sprawl on floors, and rearrange my belongings at least eighty different times. It's how I am with people as well. I cannot be fully comfortable with you until I've made at least three awkward statements just to see how you react to them. (This isn't necessarily something I do consciously, of course, but just a pattern I've noticed over the years.)  If you meet my unintentional audacity with grace, eventually I'll become less keyed up and our future relationship will be much more pleasant.

I certainly do not mean to make people jump through hoops. With a family full of smart alecs, I was taught to think swiftly, speak sharply, and laugh at everything. This, unfortunately for me, is apparently not one of those basic "facts of life" kids are normally taught. This, unfortunately for me, makes me awkward.

And then, oy vey, when I meet other people like me...it's disaster. Neither of us can crack the other's awkward barrier, so we just stare at each other, frustrated with the knowledge that there's something deeper, but stubbornly not wanting to be the first to give that information up. Enough to make you want to start a Sardonics Anonymous support group.

After this pattern has rooted itself into your system, you start believing that the only person that can protect you is, of course, yourself. You become awfully lonely and start asking God why He would ever condemn you to such a terrible fate. He, obviously, hasn't, and patiently waits for you to realize you've been alienating yourself for these some fifteen years. (Yes, I began to grasp the art of sarcasm at the age of six. I was quick.) But if you're someone like me, your immediate thought is "This sucks. I refuse this rationale outright." So, God being God, He continues to wait patiently, your flippancy only amusing in the fact that He knows you'll turn to Him eventually, incredulously asking, "What is wrong with the world today?"

Fact of the matter is that I, me, is what's wrong with the world, at least for today. And no ounce of cynicism can protect me from it, because trust me, I've argued with God all day. Past hurt, this semester's frustrations, last week's arguments...there's no point in talking about them anymore whether you'd feel vindicated or not, because bringing them up will only make you appear nagging, and if someone actually does agree with you, and you do gain that vindication...world, watch out, because that's when us smart asses really set out on crusade (trumpets, flags, corrupt mercenaries...the whole shebang).

God's really been hinting at this truth for the past couple weeks, and I'm just beginning to own up to it. As I had said...I certainly didn't like it. I refused it for awhile, punishing anyone with the inability to verbally duel with me with an extra dose. Evangelism at it's best, obviously. So then I went to silence. I simply didn't speak that much. Friends noticed, concerned, while others were probably sending up a prayer of thanks for the unexpected grace. Still, I wasn't happy. Being a naturally outgoing person, becoming a quieter version of myself didn't sit well. When friends asked what was up, I would only respond bitterly, only having to apologize immediately afterward, explaining I was undergoing spiritual growing pains.

Which brings me back to my first fact. As with my bed, I mess with my ideas. God delivered a revelation to me, neat and perfect, as only God can do. I, recognizing it as truth, asked God for peace about it, but again, as only God will, He said, "No, you haven't even thought about it. I want you to own this." So, me, sulking in the bathtub with my pillow and blanket only as I can do, thought about it. Thoroughly. And this morning at breakfast, when a friend asked what was wrong and I had to tell him, honestly, that I wish I could explain but couldn't, thought about it some more. And in chapel. And at work while sorting mail. And during my guitar jury (which is probably why I missed a note during my D Major scale, but really, how do you explain that to your music professor?). So there I was, all day, turning and turning and turning until it felt like a part of me. I think this may be God's sick version of Inception.

I still haven't fully settled yet, but I figure this post would hardly be as interesting or relatable if I were to write it after the fact. I think it's a bit of the process anyway. Oh, and I quit counseling. That's probably worrisome for a few of you, but really, if you can talk your shrink into a corner, chances are they're not for you. She had me draw pictures of my inner-self. I don't think it had quite the cathartic effect she was hoping for.

Fact #18

The Truth shall set you free...from yourself.

I'm going to see a shrink tomorrow.

The part of myself that is still incredulous about this fact depends on such an informal term to make herself feel better. For years I'd planned on going, but could never quite bite the bullet. "The Counseling Center's for crazy people. You're not crazy, you're just busy. You're a student leader, for Pete's sake. Everyone has bad days, especially with so much on your plate." And yet, honesty gnawed at the back of my mind like a rabid monkey: There are more to your bad days than most, kiddo.



I had finally convinced myself I'd go last year, but my mind was having difficulty communicating that decision to my feet. Day after day, I'd walk past it with a small sense of guilt that grew with each passing day. But, alas, summer arrived and I left a place in which psychoanalysis is replaced with hiking, and any 12-step program is laughed at outright. So, in came the Lake Michigan breezes, and out went all desires of help.

From there, I steeled my mind once more, persuading myself into believing I was invincible, or at least supposed to be. This facade sufficed...until I returned to school, to my usual trek back and forth past what intimidated me most, and back to my old mantra: You don't need it. You don't need it. You don't need it.

Then I started reading the book Eat, Pray, Love. Elizabeth Gilbert, the book's author and protagonist, also dealt with depression.

"I tried so hard to fight the endless sobbing. I remember asking myself one night, while I was curled up in the same old corner of my same old couch in tears yet again over the same old repetition of sorrowful thoughts, "Is there anything about this scene you can change, Liz?" And all I could think to do was stand up, while still sobbing, and try to balance on one foot in the middle of my living room. Just to prove that--while I couldn't stop the tears or change my dismal interior dialogue--I was not yet totally out of control: at least I could cry hysterically while balanced on one foot. Hey, it was a start."

Now, my situation is nothing like Gilbert's. For one, I don't bother going to the couch, as our's is right by our window. I prefer wallowing in my personal doom by grabbing my pillow, lying in the bathtub, and drawing the curtain until B finds me. Secondly, I'm not a critically-acclaimed author being payed to jet-set across the world. What I could resonate with, however, was that desire to control something, anything, even if it were something so ridiculous as posing like an emo flamingo for a couple minutes.

But I've come to realize this is out of my control. As much as this could depress me further, it doesn't, because I'm not alone. The center isn't for crazy people, it's for healthy people. The book's central quote by Sheryl Louise Moller, "Tell the truth, tell the truth, tell the truth," has become my new mantra.

Because really, what's worse than lying to yourself about yourself?

Fact #17

Like church, home is created by the people, not the space.

My family threw an anniversary party for my grandparents last month. For awhile my brother and I shuffled through the throng of attendees, looking lost as we searched for the family were instructed to recognize, greet, and allow to pet us. Deciding we had failed, and must be really crappy relatives, we returned to our dad. My brother, now fifteen and very much growing into one of my favorite people in the world, turned to him and said, "Who the hell are these people, and how are we related?" Laughing, dad responded, "Family hasn't shown up yet. These are all of their friends they met when they RV'd across America for a year."

My grandparents on my dad's side always amazed me. They never stayed put for long, but wherever they were they built astounding community, and in the two houses I've been around to go visit them in, they have always filled them with a strong spirit of love and security.

I'm still trying to figure out their trick. Maybe it's their disregard for pomp and circumstance. Maybe it's grandpa's stories. Maybe it's grandma's laughter. Maybe it's their lack of Ikea catalogs. Whatever it is, I wish I could bottle it, and pour it over every place I live, and invite everyone I meet in. I want to do life with people, traveling, just like they did, not just to make myself interesting, but to become even more interested in people, and just start to grasp onto what about us God loves so damn much.

I love children, because they're so brilliantly transparent. They love without fear or condition, and demand love because they know that, no matter what, it's needed. I lost my zeal for people this summer. Big people, I mean. Too much calculation, too many hurdles. I began to forget what it was to love without an audience, without authority, without stipulation. I forgot the truth about my existence, and could only think about what I should look like to others.

All I can say is, never again. They're right (whomever the ominous "They" are).  Home is where the heart is. And my heart has found its way again. Back to all of you.

Fact #16

Living with two college-age boys is one of the most stressful educational experiences you could put yourself through.

Just take my word on this one.

Fact #15

It's impossible to count your blessings.

One of my duties after camp is to drive to one of our bus's drop-off sites to make sure the one kid that is picked up from that site makes it to his parental unit safely. So, quite literally, I drive 20 minutes to watch Samuel walk from Point A, to Point B, and then drive back.

Then I say, "Why?" shrug, shake my head, then consider myself blessed regardless and drive on back.

Today, as I watched the kid scamper off to his mom (who is always early) and began to feel my impatience flutter like a tiny dragon eating any stomach butterflies I could ever possess, I decided to try out that good ol' saying, "Count your blessings."

As I actually attempted to do so, I realized that there was no way I was going to find an end. Once I was up to my point in the route to which I must dodge construction (and the road workers that come along with it), I had lost count completely.

Funny, how testing out such a simple, age-old idea can improve your outlook so easily.

Fact #14

A sense of humor is the perfect boyfriend (or spouse, for those enviably blissful few).

10) It always shows up on time for parties.
9) It can't hold your hair back, but it's forgiving after that party.
8) It (positively) encourages weight loss (laughter = 1.3 calories/minute).
7) It'll get you out of a tight spot with your parents, your professor...or your neighbor...
6) It's never out of your league.
5) Together you make the absolute cutest Facebook profile pictures.
4) It doesn't have to hug you to make you feel good.
3) All of your friends love it.
2) Keeps you warm at night, and leaves you with a smile on your face.
1) God gives it to you right on time.


I felt my last post was rather cocky, and I apologize. I'm not one for deleting things though, and I still hold to a few of those ideals stated within the entry. Plus, I'd rather you see me for who I am, flaws and all, than some monolithic character incapable of growth. Because, really, what's the point of a Christian community if we can't grow together, right?

Fact #13

Humor is a blessing to the observant.

I don't mean to toot my own horn or anything (which I always thought was an odd saying...can you imagine people walking around with horns simply for that reason? Strange.) but I'm a rather entertaining human being. I'm told this all of the time, so, unless I'm continually surrounded by enemies, I'll continue to assume it's true. However, I must stress that it is rarely my own material. People constantly ask me if I make my stories up as I tell them. As if I were that creative. Ha.

God definitely has blessed me with the gift of observation and timing. And making friends with the most odd assortment of people in the world. In fact, now that I think about it, I'm quite positive that if all of my friends were to sit down to dinner together, nothing and no one would make it out alive, either due to busting a gut, or a fist fight (which would go unnoticed, because everyone would be laughing too hard).

I sometimes wonder if a little observation doesn't better all things. The bad breakup, the angry parent, the nasty injury (I currently have poison ivy). We'll take the example of a terrible coworker. If you take the time to notice the good things a body's capable of, rather than that one (or several, if it's male) thing they've done, your day can become infinitely better. Especially if it was something unintentional. I know a handful of absolutely terrible people that end up creating half of my Twitter updates. And knowing that they would definitely behead me if they knew I was quoting them only makes it that much better.

Fact #12

When it comes to matters of reputation and credibility, you have to stick to your guns.


My grandparents sent me a sweater last semester, and I absolutely loved it. The problem? It was sized to fit the girth of Violet Beauregarde after the blueberry pie gum incident. So, naturally, I sent it back to the company, (which I shall give the pseudonym of...Dabela's). They kindly told me that, because the sweater was no longer in stock, they would send me a gift card in its place for the value of the sweater. After several months of waiting, however, I received no such card. No big deal, really. Things happen. So I emailed them. This is when the hilarious argument that only God could bless me with began. To spare you reading all eight pages (yes, eight), I'll skip to my favorite part:


Dear Ashley,
It states that the card was indeed sent to Harambee.

Sincerely,
Quinten C.
Customer Service


Dear Quinten,
I have no idea where that is...I go to school in Elgin, IL. I have a few friends and family that may know where it is though...

Cheers,
Ashley McCambridge


Dear Ashley,
It's actually the northern part of Milwaukee, WI.
Sincerely,

Quinten C.
Customer Service


Dear Quinten,
Haha, well there you go; I definitely don't know where it is then.

Cheers,
Ashley McCambridge


Dear Ashley,
It was mostly spent in the deli in our Richfield store. A buffalo burger, a grilled chicken sandwich, and candy, according to the redeemed gift card transactions.

Sincerely,
Quinten C.
Customer Service


Dear Quinten,
Then I continue to assert this wasn't my doing; I'm a vegetarian.

Cheers,
Ashley McCambridge


Dear Ashley,
We will send you a new gift card at the address you have provided with us. We apologize for the confusion.

Sincerely,
Quinten C.
Customer Service


Persistence seems to go a long way. So does honesty.

Fact #11

You can't always get what you want.


The Rolling Stones were right. You can't always get what you want. It may happen on occasion, but really, if we were 100% honest, it rarely happens. And so we change our attitudes, manipulate them sometimes, even. We will do anything to make ourselves believe our desires are the most important. For example, my wiener dog, Carl, believes finding his hidden kong is worth nudging me incessantly for at 12:46 AM. What he doesn't realize is that by doing so, he has interrupted my sleep, heightening the chances that I will forget to feed him in the morning, as I chase my desire to show up to work on time.

Ah, the price we pay for entertainment.

And yet, what happens to us when our desire for goodness and our desire for anything else conflict? We begin down that slippery slope of justification.

Cognitive dissonance, you're an absolute whore.

Fact #10

Romantic comedies make women and men believe they are absolute fools, and encourage unbalanced relations.


Two of my favorite movies are When Harry Met Sally, and Definitely, Maybe. I love stories about relationships set over long periods of time. The character development makes it more relatable, more real. However, a current position I'm in has got me rethinking my stance on the films. Both have this smart, quirky, surfacely overly-confident, secretly insecure woman tentatively flirting with their best friend, and always unknowing of the lovably goofy, impossibly attractive man (you shake your head at the thought of Billy Crystal, but hey, in his time he was fine).

I could always relate to her. Always the best friend, whose beauty was discovered late in the game, but no less passionately. And if you were ever able to follow the on-screen relationships after the movie's end, mine would as theirs would have: in a familiar setting we'd always loved, slow and bittersweet, knowing it was "for the best" and "at least we're able to stay friends." Which isn't a half-bad record, in my opinion. I'm certainly not complaining. They were just...typical. It became routine. Almost an equation, really:

(Guy Friend + Listening Ear)/(Patience - Dependence) x Avoidance of Fluorescent Lighting = Boyfriend

It became my fail-safe plan, without a doubt. Then I started getting into situations (college) where I simply just made a lot of guy friends. Legitimate friends with which I had/have no agenda. Alas, the Plan took on a life of its own, and I ended up in relationships I didn't even see coming. I became the Quirky Girl, without even wanting to.

It's a difficult thing, shedding the Quirky Girl skin. Once people peg you for it, they'll never let you live it down. Not such a bad thing, really. They're always rooting for you. Always laughing with you. They like you because you're comfortable being just a little bit odder than they already are, and will always accept whatever flaws they decide to share with you.

But the summer has presented three completely new situations to which I am not the Quirky Girl, but rather, the Mysterious Sexpot. How the frick this was accomplished, I'm still trying to figure out, but it has. New skin for me, for sure. My friend B's normally this character. She's always, without fail, the adventurous, flirty, mystery-girl that every guy works for, and I've always enjoyed the sarcastic side-kick role (quite thoroughly, actually). A was the Wise Artist, and Abs was the Girl Next Door. It was a system that worked.

But when you look at film, those girls never win. Either they are the prize of some dumpy, awkward white guy, or the one Quirky Girl is up against. But why should we be made to feel this way? Is being a mysterious woman wrong?

And what of the bumbling slob that always seems to get lucky? Why make them bumbling? Why make them slobs? Or the dashing lead that seems blind to his best friend throwing herself at him? How does any of it make sense enough for us to fall for it, and then model our own relationships after it?

Oy vey, I say. We're smarter than this. Women, we are mysterious, beautiful, deserving of adoration as well as challenge. Men, you're all strong and fully capable of providing for a woman should you simply take the initiative. Guys, we're all everything anyone could want. Attempting to pigeonhole our personalities into a defined character puts limits on our lives. Why do that to ourselves?

So I'm going out today, as the Quirky Mysterious Wise Girl That Reminds You of an Old Friend...and whatever other adjectives I can pick up along the way. Because there's only One that can define you, and they're certainly not here.

Fact #9

All good things take time.

Art, relationships, the perfect soufflè...whatever it is, chances are it's going to take awhile before it's even satisfactory to you. And even then, it'll take time and effort. This brings up several frustrating points:

1) You may lose track of other important things.

2) It takes a part of you, and may keep that part.

3) Patience is required. Sometimes a lot of friggin' patience.

4) Others may discourage you.

5) It may have not been worth it in the end.

And yet, the rewards often outweigh the risks. People, for instance, continually take time no matter how well you know them. And because you can't just shut them off or put them away, this process will never end.

That is, of course, assuming you're not a jerk.

Fact #8

Comedy = (Tragedy + Distance)/Time

I'm not one to gripe, but this has been a bad week. I mean one of those never-come-up-for-air-from-the-bad...weeks. And what pisses me off more than anything right now, more than having my crush ignore me after months of flirting, more than having to re-reschedule my guitar lesson despite not having time to practice for juries, more than having my favorite professor call me out on a deep personal familial hurt in the middle of my advanced public speaking class...is the fact that I can't even relish this rare chance at anger, because of my knowledge that I will laugh at the slew of frustration as soon as next week begins.

There is no doubt that anger is rarely justifiable, and even more rarely righteous. And all too often, if you make the mistake of acting on your anger, you'll find you became the villain you thought you were battling.

Fact #7

Opportunity is petrifying.


"You're so talented! You should totally go for it; it's the chance of a lifetime!"

I listened to B's words as I stared at my computer screen, half excitement, half dread pounding in the cavity that, while normally contains food, now housed my heart. No...nono...not possible...they would never... But yes...they would. And did.

The situation was this: one of my favorite bands, intimidatingly indie in their brilliance and threateningly accessible in their enrollment at my school, recently posted the following on their Facebook status:

one new person can play with us at any of our shows. here is what we are looking for: horns, keyboard, glockenspiel, violin, cello, viola, choir... whatever else you can convince us is cool first come first serve anyone up for the beat kitchen show!!

You're always safe dreaming dreams. You're completely fine talking about them, laughing as you describe the quintessential moment that allows you to shine. You're comfortable planning steps to achieve everything you could hope for. You're safe laboriously going over every detail of that pinnacle point of your personal history.

Then Opportunity rears its ugly head, demanding you to act.

It doesn't help that this particular chance was brought to my attention immediately following the Oscars, the one television event that reminds me of my hopes and dreams as they glide seamlessly glide across stage. That, however, is hardly an attainable goal at this point.

There are two things I love third to God and my family, respectively: acting and making music. Now acting right now, is an opportunity that ebbs and flows like a steady tide. Four shows a year, plus improv and a troupe for chapel. It's opportunity I'm comfortable with.

I haven't played music for anyone save myself and my lessons profs since high school. I miss it, especially that incandescent comfort you get playing with other musicians you've become to trust. But, being as reserved with my trust as I am, I'm more afraid of performing music than anything, acting included. Acting requires you to represent someone else, or their ideas of humanity. Music demands your most absolute self.

here is what we are looking for: horns, keyboard, glockenspiel, violin, cello, viola, choir...

Here's what I'm looking for: courage, patience, and grace.

See you at the Beat Kitchen.

Fact #6

It is impossible to efficiently judge people, for all are in a constant state of flux.

It would be of great comfort to many people, most of all myself, to be able to classify people as one does animals. That is, in Latin, on a hierarchical chart. This would make things so much more simple, without me having to change my social tactics with any of them.

I'm in a communications theory class this semester, and it is fascinating. It's interesting to think of these theorists, and the ways in which they attempt to predict human motivation. They make some very valid claims, such as the theories of Social Penetration, Uncertainty-Reduction, and especially Stella Ting-Toomey's ideas on conflict resolution in her theory of Face-Negotiation. They will continue their research, forever believing that, at some point, they will have narrowed down their theory enough to be able to fully rely on its hypothesis.

However, this will never be. People are complex; joy is as common as rage, disillusionment as hope, and obsession as passion. You will never know your best friends as well as you think, and vice-versa and, though this fact may seem incredibly depressing and increasingly frustrating, it is Good. When we think about it, would we truly want it any other way? Yes, of course, I jest that my desires lean to the ideal of having all humans placed on microscope slides for me to analyze and make clear-cut conjectures about, but after all my work would be done, what would really be gained? There would be nothing left to quest over, save God. And God created us imago dei, so who am I to tamper with that?

Fact #5

Sometimes there are standards you will not live up to.

I know I said I'd post photos, but I decided to give you a bonus for being so dedicated and made a movie instead. The video pretty much explains all. B and J will probably be mentioned often here. We’re planning on going back and trying again. Maybe that time with track marks up our arms to be more convincing.

Fact #4

When you grow up, you will have to take multi-vitamins. And they will taste awful.


I spilled my One-a-Days in my sink today. I was immediately greeted with the pungent aroma of health. It's amazing how something so nutritious can inspire one to gag upon its scent. It didn't help that they instantly began dissolving into pasty yellow mush once they came in contact with the puddle of water by the drain.

I normally choke them down with orange juice, but I ran out, so the remnants of my Mt. Dew's going to have to suffice. Ironically collegiate diet, I must say.

God, please inspire someone to create vitamins for college kids; ones that taste like home-cooked meals, or sushi, or blueberry pie. These taste like old people. Mixed with highlighter fluid.

Fact #3

Financial desperation isn't half bad if you: 1) are single, 2) haven't claimed any dependents on your tax refund, 3) own a camera. If you are missing one of these, find a friend that qualifies. If you have no friends, my condolences.


Let's put it this way: books are to college kids what trains are to hobos. That is to say, essential if you would like to go anywhere. And with my major, I'm likely to experience both realities.

My dad worries I'm not selfish enough. His view of me is a hippy-dippy born-again who throws her money violently at the homeless, and if on the Upper East Side, burns it. This simply is not so. However, all fathers would like to think their children kind and ridiculous, so I allow him the illusion.

My closest friend B and I have run into the predicament of not being able to afford basic college supplies, such as books. Thus, we have decided to take a weekend trip over to the nearest plasma donation site, slice open our largest vessels, and see who can fill their bag the quickest. We have rescheduled this trip several times now, mainly due to B's aversion to needles, pain, and blood, and the convenient cropping up of other, less distressing activities, such as watching an entire season of Gossip Girl, or walking in on a Shriner's rally (to be featured in this blog at a later date).

However, she has finally convinced herself that this Saturday is the day. We have three cars of people to document the event. Often enough, most things aren't worth doing unless you can document them properly on Facebook. Who needs memories if you can't make other people feel bad for not having as much fun? The photos will be featured shortly after.

Fact #2

Life will never be as exciting as any movie. Ever.

You could argue that reality TV has cured this depressing truth, but I quite disagree. This is mainly due to the fact that people only tend to act out when they know they have a captive audience, and/or it has been scripted, as most everything is nowadays.

I came upon this weighted realization a couple weeks ago, after seeing Sherlock Holmes for the second time. Growing up, I had always wanted to be a detective. My dad was one for a time, but it wasn't his footsteps I wanted to follow diligently. A small town detective is only bombarded with petty paperwork. I had aspirations of being the next Dick Tracy, Nancy Drew, Basil of Baker Street (the closest I had to Holmes growing up).

I used to put up posters every day, looking for a Watson to my Holmes, crossing out the, to my ever-discerning seven year-old brain, intellectually unsuitable. Of course, there were very few that could ever keep up with my schemes. I doubt I could have kept up with my younger self now, so my sympathies go out to all of the neighbors I convicted then. Of course, nothing ever came of those convictions. I continued to pester my neighborhood friend, pealing "Let's go have adventures!" The girls beating the boys in kickball was as close as we got.

Going about the day-to-day in faith can be an adventure. Maybe God made Earth this dull so we'd want Heaven more. In the meantime, I'll continue to study codes and ciphers. Perhaps a secret society is just what this campus needs.

Fact #1

Lying is the tactic of cowards, and sarcasm is the refuge of losers. Sadly, I'm a dedicated patron to both.


A lot of people, especially students of the Baptist institution I study at, find it important to inform me that my sarcasm makes people feel bad. I make it a point to counter that it does not, in fact, make people feel bad. It hurts their pride by preying on insecurities. Therefore, stop being such an obvious target and get your nose out of the air, you weak-minded snob.

Lying is more like a game. Compare it to gambling, if you will. Impossible to know when people will catch on, because humans are rather unpredictable human beings, as God is the only one who ever possibly truly know their true motives. Bully for Him. It's probably a habit I should break, but unfortunately they don't make patch for fibs.


Oh, by the way, if you're a reader from my last blog, congratulations, you found me. If you're new, welcome. I'm sure we'll be great friends.