On Proposition 8 & People Who Hate

While having coffee yesterday afternoon, Jon and I started discussing politics. What started as a mini-rant on Jon's part about how much it bothers him that people are so pissed about having to press 1 for English soon detoured over to the subject of gay marriage. It was a harmless yet enthusiastic conversation because we happen to agree on our positions on the matter. Coincidentally enough, I later found out that a similar enthusiastic conversation must have been taking place at that very moment in California.

Yesterday Proposition 8, the gay marriage ban, was overturned by a federal judge who considered the ban unconstitutional. In an article appearing on abc.com one supporter of Proposition 8 was quoted saying, "If we change the definition of marriage, that is going to affect our children. So basically, we're trying to defend the children that will be adopted or raised by a couple who are not actually their mom and dad.". I have one word for this guy... ridiculous.

I consider myself a Christian and a conservative and though it may be counter-intuitive for me to be fully supportive of gay marriage in the US, I am one hundred percent. This country has lost the right to cite religious doctrine as a basis for regulating something that is none of their friggin' business! If you're going to make what a woman does with her body her choice, then you sure as hell better let tax paying citizens choose who they marry. 

You may say that God designed marriage for a man and a woman; and I agree with you. However, marriage in this country has very little to do with God anymore. And as sad as that makes me to say it, it happens to be true. So are people saying that unless two people are married in a religious ceremony, they can't get married? Why not put a ban on atheist marriage? What if you're arguement is the same as the guy's from the ABC article and you believe that two people who can't produce children biologically shouldn't be allowed to get married? OK, then why not a ban on infertile marriage? Since when can a government that separated church and state long ago make these decisions?

And what infuriates me the most are the gay marriage protesters. These self-rightous, judgemental, hypocrits are destroying the reputation of the church. I was raised in a Christian household and I was never taught to hate people who believed something different than I did. I also was never taught to shove my beliefs and principles down people's throats. These zealots can't really believe they are successfully saving the souls of homosexuals, can they? If I were gay and I saw a picket line outside the courthouse with a sign that said, "Burn in Hell, Fags" I can't really say I would rethink all my life's decisions and fall to my knees in repentence on the spot... but that's just me. Whether you believe Jesus was who He said He was or not, the man did not teach us to hate or to judge- bottom line.

With that being said, if gays want to get married, let them! Think about it; here is a group of people spending millions of dollars and countless hours fighting for the right to participate in an institution that is treated so poorly by those who get to experience it. If anything, legalizing gay marriage would revitalize the concept of marriage in this country. If they are granted the right to marry you better believe they are not going to take it for granted and show up in divorce court at the first sign of trouble. 

So, I guess what I'm trying to say to all those opposed to equal civil rights for homosexuals is: back off. You're wasting your energy on something that is really none of your business. If you don't support it, fine, but it's not your job to judge it.

Sit Down, James Cameron

I can never enjoy another movie again. This was the collective reaction of Brandon, Jon, and myself as we walked out of the movie theater at 2:40am on Friday. We had been anticipating the premiere of Inception for weeks and had already prepared ourselves for it to be the best movie ever made- this is no exaggeration. The bar of our expectations had been set impossibly high... or so we thought. As it turned out, it was better.

Inception more closely resembled a roller coaster ride than a movie. I don't think any of us took a breath or blinked for the entire two and a half hours. I could go on for days about the phenomenal performances by the actors (who knew Joseph Gordon Levitt had it in him?) and the twisted visual effects but that's not what stood out to me. Plain and simple: this is what movie making should be. The story was bold and beyond compelling; plus, it was just complicated enough so you felt challenged but at the same time you weren't exhausted trying to keep up. The intensity of the situation was alleviated briefly by exactly the right amount and type of comic relief and gratuitous violence was clearly deemed unnecessary to plot development (what a concept). When the two and a half hours flew by and the story was winding down the final scene evoked a collective gasp from the audience followed by resounding applause.

All those in the business should stop rolling all over your money pile for a second and pay attention. This is what it's about, folks. Stop overpaying coked-out assholes to write dick and fart jokes and take a risk! Give us something we've never seen before; try some actual artistic creativity for a change. Creativity. Look it up. No, put down the script for Saw 8 go get a dictionary and find out why Christopher Nolan is so much better than you.

I'm sorry, but spending 10 years on creating seven foot tall blue cheetahs and tacking on some garbage script with about as much originality as a teenager in a Team Edward tee shirt may make you truck-loads of money but, in my book, it just makes you a cheap cinematic prostitute. 

Now, as for the phenomenon that is Inception; I really can't enjoy another movie again. Jon remarked, as we made our way to the car still in a haze over what we had just witnessed, "If Christopher Nolan had just applied himself to curing cancer or something... I'm a little mad that he didn't."
Well, we may not have a cure for cancer, but at least my faith was renewed in the future of movies. At least as long as Christopher Nolan is involved. Bring on the next Batman movie!

Wanted: Marital Social Director

Ladies and Gentlemen: for your consideration, I present to you the classic marriage dilemma; or one of the classics as it were. Maybe some of you can help me out with this little conundrum. I swear, even after all the tricks, procedures, secrets, landmines, and loopholes I've  discovered in and about marriage (and believe me, they're none too few) I still can't for the life of me navigate this issue clearly. So someone please tell me; what the hell are the rules when it comes to your outside social life as a couple?

I feel as though this issue doesn't receive enough attention in the matrimonial "how-to" literature. Perhaps this is because no one in their right frame of mind would consider this particular problem a deal breaker. Regardless, I still find the whole scenario irritating. It's hard enough for me to figure out my own social politics without having to work my husband's in as well. Let me present an example of this dilemma that presented itself relatively recently in my house.

Author's note: Some details of the following story have been altered to protect the privacy and feelings of those involved.

Brandon and I had been invited to a party thrown by Alex, a mutual friend. The invitation arrived in the mail four or five weeks before the party was to take place and neither Brandon nor I made any sort of immediate commitment to attend or not. The invitation requested we RSVP regrets only therefore we were still within our boundaries of party etiquette. Three days before the date of the party Brandon and I both received a mass email from Alex requesting that we reply if we would not be attending the party. The conversation that occurred that morning over coffee went as follows:
Me: "Hey, Bran- are we going to Alex's party this weekend?"
Brandon: "No."
Me: "Why not?"
Brandon: "I want to go to the Oriole game."
Me: "OK, whatever, I'm fine either way. But can you let Alex know we won't be coming?"
Brandon: "Why do I have to do it? You tell Alex."
Me: "Uh, because you're the one who doesn't want to go."
Brandon: "Fine, then I guess we're going."
Me: "What? That's not what I meant. I'm fine with going to the O's game I just think since you're the one who doesn't want to go to the party you should be the one to tell Alex we're not coming."
Brandon: "I don't want to."
Me: "What makes you think I do?"

And so on, and so on... you get the idea.

Now, this was by no means a huge ordeal- minor banter really. But it was clear to me at that point in the conversation that we were at a stalemate. Neither one of us was going to back down any time soon, yet I was still unclear if we were going to a party or a baseball game that weekend. And I was fuming with frustration at the clear power play that was unfolding in my living room- not enough to back down though, of course. I thought I was making perfect sense and the situation was pretty straight forward:
- Brandon didn't want to go to the party
- Alex is a mutual friend that invited both of us, Mr. & Mrs.
- Brandon should be the one to make the uncomfortable phone call or write the uncomfortable email that explains why Mr. & Mrs. will not be attending
AM I RIGHT?

Eventually the point was moot because we attended Alex's wonderful party and had a great time. But I can't help musing about the vastly under-appreciated issue of who is the social director of the marriage and what the guidelines are that exist within that position. If you have managed to figure it out in your own relationship I tip my hat to you- congrats! I'm still working on this one.

The Cautionary Tale of Abby

I have a friend- well, she's actually more accurately described as a casual acquaintance. For purposes of online anonymity I'll call her Abby. Abby is a tragic case. As former co-workers during my time as a waitress I got to know Abby rather well considering we worked just about every shift together. We spent a few occasions outside of work together and I even had her over to my house for margaritas. Between me and my good friend Amanda, we believed we could rescue her from the ever-deepening bleak hole she was digging herself into. This endeavor has proved to be quite the uphill battle.

Let me tell you a little bit about Abby. Abby is stupid; there's just no way around it. She has the mind of a seventeen year old idiot trapped in the body of a twenty-two year old girl. With no inherent desire to better her situation in any way, Abby works as a part-time waitress and spends her free time moving into, then out of, then into her eighteen year old deadbeat boyfriend's filthy apartment. On top of participating in one of the most dysfunctional relationships I've seen since Whitney and Bobby (that's right, I made a Whitney and Bobby reference), Abby wanted to get pregnant. Every attempt at trying to explain patiently and logically to her that this was perhaps quite literally the dumbest idea anyone has ever had was only met with a blank stare or a dismissive shrug.

After Abby and her loser boyfriend's first attempt to co-habitate lasted only two weeks, Amanda and I started to see a shimmer of hope for Abby. We were proud of her for making the first step to becoming a functioning adult. She dumped her dumb-shit boyfriend, started showing an interest in working more, saving money, and participating in activities with people her own age. I'll pause here to mention that Abby had previously been unable to enjoy her status as a twenty-two year old because all her friends were fresh out of high school and couldn't set foot in a bar. Anyway, suffice it to say Abby started making progress- for about a month.

Re-enter the loser boyfriend. This prick decided that he couldn't just be a deadbeat and waste his life all by his lonesome. He had to drag poor lost little Abby back down into the ditch with him. After threatening suicide if she didn't come back, shocker or shockers, Abby returned. She abandoned every last one of her efforts and moved back into her self-inflicted hell. This is the part where Amanda and I start beating our heads against the wall when what we truly would like to do is beat Abby's head against the wall.

You may be wondering at this point why Amanda and I are taking such a vested interest in this misguided little girl's exploits. Why shouldn't we simply write her off and go on about our lives? The girl is clearly a lost cause; let her hang herself. Don't think we weren't tempted. The thing about Abby is there is something different about her. She's not like so many of the entitled little brats I come across all too often who I feel could use a nice hard punch in the face from reality to knock them down a few pegs. She's got this trusting innocence to her that really makes you believe she deserves better and she simply doesn't know it.

The latest update on Abby, which I received from Amanda yesterday and the reason why I am writing this post, seems to be the last straw. Amanda has invested much more time than I have in the Abby Project and even she seems to have reached her wits end and is, for all intents and purposes, ready to throw in the towel. Turns out Abby suspects her worthless skeeze of a boyfriend (have I made it clear how I feel about the guy?) of having an STD. Showing no symptoms herself, Abby was advised to go get herself tested. Side note: is this something that really needs to be told to a twenty-two year old? This bold declaration of the obvious was met with a response that I still have to repeat in my head to truly believe someone could think this was a point to be argued.

Abby first responded by saying that she couldn't afford to go to the doctor. I know, I know, dumb-ass, right? But, sit tight, it gets better. After Amanda tried to present Abby her options as they pertained to her financial hesitations Abby tried a second line of rationalization.

"Well, it could just be something else," Abby replied brushing off the subject entirely. This is one of those moments that it would have been totally appropriate to grab Abby by her shoulders and literally attempt to shake some common frickin' sense into her, but my guess is that it probably wouldn't have worked anyway. Amanda tried a few more times to get this girl to see that she was being a weapons-grade moron; but sadly it was to no avail.

So what should be done about sad, lost little Abby? Unfortunately this story is only the tip of the tragic iceberg. And just like the Titanic before her, if Abby had simply pulled her head out of the sand for even a moment she could have avoided crashing into that iceberg and sinking to the bottom of the dark relentless ocean.
But, who knows; maybe there's still hope for Abby. Or maybe the great philosopher Ron White had it right; you can't fix stupid.

What Ever Happened to "Happy for You"?

I was a waitress for seven years. It was a tragically bittersweet job that ushered me through many stages of my life. What started as a part-time job that I stumbled into by chance eventually evolved into a lifestyle, slowly transitioned into a means to an end, and eventually died a slow death and was ultimately put out of its excruciating misery- this time (here's hoping) for good.


During my tenure as an under-appreciated and under-paid servant to the masses I learned countless valuable life lessons. For starters, I could multi-task in the Olympics. I would win too because all the judges would get their self-righteous butts kissed with a sincerity that only a seasoned waitress knows how to fake. But above all things I learned doing this job I discovered that no matter the amount of utterly ridiculous behavior I've witnessed from guests in my restaurants, no matter how many times my jaw has dropped to the floor, the general public that I served never ever ceased to surprise me. Even on my last day as a waitress I guarantee there was something some random patron did that made my eyes widen and rendered me speechless at their complete audacity.


I say this to you, dear reader, because I have have found this particular life lesson carries over quite seamlessly to my married life as well. As you may have read in my previous post, family members have really breached about eight different kinds of personal boundaries when poking for information about Brandon's and my life plans. I don't know if these kinds of comments arise in the worlds of other married couples- maybe it's just us. Either way, I continue to find myself shocked and appalled by the comments people have deemed acceptable to say to my face. However, I have my seven year career as a hardened waitress to thank for my ability to take every last one of these comments with grace, dignity, and sometimes strategic wit.


I rarely accompany Brandon to events that involve his close-knit group of friends. Much of this has to do with the fact that since our move to farm country I have become somewhat of a  contented homebody. I also do not like to make a habit of encroaching on "Guy Time". Only one of Brandon's friends is married, two are products of recently failed marriages (but we'll discuss them later), two or three others have quasi-serious girlfriends, and the rest are steadfastly single. So where does this leave me? Quite often I am there purely for decoration, perched on a bar stool sipping a glass of Merlot, silently pretending to be listening intently to a conversation about fantasy football line-ups or Call of Duty strategies. No thanks.


This past weekend, however, I decided that I would make a cameo appearance. One of the guys was hosting his annual Memorial Day cookout. It was a comfortable mix of friends of Brandon that I could hold quality conversation with and total strangers. I have never been made to feel left out among Brandon's group, they are truly great guys and a lot of fun. But let's face it, they've all been close since childhood and I will forever be marked as "Brandon's wife". I'm somewhat of an alien life form to these guys. They're all perfectly pleasant and sweet to me, but I frequently get the sense that they can't quite figure out how to relate to me. There seems to be a hovering sense of hesitation around many of the conversations I have with some of Brandon's closest friends. It's almost like they still don't fully trust me or they are reluctant to absorb me completely into their circle because part of them still suspects I may not be a permanent fixture. While reading this you may chalk this analysis up to paranoid delusions, however, I urge you to withhold judgement until you find out how this was confirmed for me.


Brandon and I were standing among a group of miscellaneous friends and acquaintances sipping on bottles of beer and trying not to melt in the hot sun. One of Brandon's recently divorced friends that I mentioned earlier, I'll call him Scott, approached the group. I still can't quite remember how the subject arose but all of a sudden Brandon and I found our marriage in the social spotlight once again.
"Don't ever get married!" Scott exclaimed to Brandon, gesturing emphatically with his beer-holding hand. "Oh, wait," he continued sarcastically, "too late!"
We all had a half-hearted laugh and I was secretly hoping the line of conversation would drop dead right then and there. No such luck.
"It's cool," Scott looked to me. "You're great now, but around year two or three you will turn into a c***, you will cheat on him, and you will leave him."
OK, Scott. Thanks for the heads up.


Here's where that grace and dignity I also mentioned earlier had to come in. I laughed with only the slightest hint of discomfort and suppressed my urge to punch him because I realized several things in that moment. I recognized that Scott was clearly joking around with us, even though there was a glimmer of austerity behind his statement. I also was able to take the unbelievably abhorrent use of the c-word in stride because after four years of spending Saturday nights drinking with twenty-something single guys I have diminished my reaction to that word to a minimal cringe at its use. And lastly, I acknowledged the fact that what he described I would unavoidably do to Brandon is exactly what Scott's wife did to him. So after taking all this into consideration in about three seconds, I decided to laugh it off, smile at Scott, and attempt some witty banter.
"So I guess I should just give up now and get it over with, huh?" I shot back with a sly grin.


You could almost see the cloud of tension lift off the group. I didn't realize until that moment that it seemed as though everyone had been waiting for my reaction. I suspect that they all were expecting me to punch Scott. And, in retrospect, he probably would have deserved it. I mean, you can't just say that kind of thing! But that wouldn't have been very helpful to anyone.


So, thank you, seven outrageous years of waitressing, for teaching me that people are always going to surprise you with their inappropriate behavior. And, most importantly, for teaching me that when someone shocks me with their new heights of disrespect and insolence it's best to take it in stride, respond with grace and dignity, and then complain about it on your blog later.

Nope, Sorry, No Kids Yet.

Brandon and I have been married almost two and a half years now- with no children. Gasp. That's right, no children and no immediate plan to start trying to have children. Does this make us matrimonial pariahs? I've been getting the impression lately that it does. I don't mean to be rude- well, actually, I don't really care if it seems rude at this point, but since when does a wedding ring on the finger broadcast to the masses that it's open season on our personal life?
At a fairly recent Clark family gathering (that's Brandon's side of the family) one particularly outspoken Aunt saw us arrive and immediately bee-lined in our direction. She took one look at my flat belly in my little black dress and blurted out in a boisterous way that drew the attention of all family members in our immediate vicinity,
"No baby yet?! What's the matter Bran, your willy not workin'?!"
Yes, that's right folks; those words actually were spoken to our faces. How do you even respond to that mortifying comment? As my heart shimmied it's way up my chest and lodged firmly in my throat and the blood was hamming through my eardrums with embarrassment and anger, my husband managed to collect himself enough to respond.
"No, Aunt Marie, it's working just fine," he laughed it off. "Just no kids for us yet."

"Not yet" has become the official party line; recently we've had to develop a habit of making a preemptive "not yet" strike when we arrive at any event that the family will be attending. After the infamous "willy" comment it is simply an effort to save us from humiliation.

We get it from the other side of the family too now. My brother's wife- I'll call her Gwen- is a proud mother of three with a forth on the way. During a recent visit to their house I revealed my aspirations of becoming a writer. Gwen listened quietly as I spoke of my passion and my plans for my first book. Later I sat with Gwen on the back deck watching Brandon play with her kids. It was then she decided to strike with the question that has become a resounding refrain to Brandon and me:
"When are you two going to start having kids?"
First of all, why is it always phrased like that? "Start having kids"- like once you start you just can't stop and that's who you are; a baby-making machine. Second, I love how people think this is a socially appropriate question simply because we're married. If I was single no one would say, "Hey Jenna, when are you going to quit screwing around and start having kids?" And for that matter no one with any decency would ask me, "When are you going to get married already?"
Not cool. This is personal stuff that I think should be our business. But I digress.

I responded candidly to Gwen's question, "There are things I would like to accomplish before we start a family."
Gwen's comeback was this:
"Well there's nothing like having children to get your priorities straight and keep your pipe-dreams in check."
Pow. All the air rushed from my lungs as if I had been kicked in the stomach by a horse. I was rendered speechless yet again by the brazenness of the incredibly inappropriate comment. That was a one-two passive aggressive punch, too. She was not only suggesting that having kids is the only life-affirming path one can take but also she was suggesting that I was basically and idiot for thinking I could ever be a published writer.
Gwen might as well have said, "Give it up, girl. Just start popping out some kids and life will be sweet."

I'm going to pause here to say that I am not anti-children. Brandon and I are not one of those "modern day power couples" that see no need for children when we're so focused on bigger and better things. We want children. We simply want to be able to accomplish a certain number of things before we give ourselves completely to our children and give them the best possible life opportunities. What's the problem?

So, give it up guys. Just because we're married doesn't mean we owe it to anyone to 1. have children or 2. explain why we haven't had children yet. We love you all, really we do. Just find some other aspect of our lives to ask about.

I'm just saying.