There was lots of talk, as usual, over Thanksgiving. Not so much old family stories talk (that apparently some non-family members hate a lot). But, that could just be because I took some long naps and showers at night (prime time… er, for all of it). But, here’s what I want to know:

There was brief discussion on Sunday about “Liberal Brethren” and if that’s an appropriate term. If they are liberal and therefore we can’t worship with them, they are not brethren. Most of the time, I find myself lumped with the “Conservative Brethren”. However, there are two cases I’m familiar with where I feel… *shudder* liberal: 1) Down the street from the WA church there’s a “one cup, no class” church; 2) The only church around the farm (i.e. “franch”) that holds services on Wednesday is also “one cup, no class”.

And I’m prompted to ask… Am I “Liberal Brethren” to these groups? If so, what does that mean for me?

I’m going to throw three things out there that I’m not sure about. 1) I think that “one cup” is gross and unnecessary, but I don’t think you’re doomed for observing that way. 2) I think “no class” doesn’t have a good argument. 3) I think the church needs to reevaluate how they appropriate their funds.

Also, were it not for the gross factor of the “one cupping” (??) at said E. TX congregation, I would be worshiping there on weekends. While I would appreciate a class atmosphere, this church seems to tingle with aliveness. Is it vain of me to not want to put myself in a situation where I have to drink after people? I’m not sure, but I think so.

The career woman. This woman is someone who thinks she’s the man. She’s the breadwinner, the provider, and the do-it-all girl who doesn’t need any one. I want to make a point to say that I don’t think that on the whole this is a Christian woman. However, if you took offense to what I said… it probably is you.

If you’re a Christian woman and you work outside the home or have a career, I don’t by any means think you’re a heathen. That’s ridiculous. But I want to know what this woman is really thinking and really trying to do.

I don’t believe in equality. When God created people, he didn’t make one better than the other, but he made them right for each other. Each has a purpose. The purpose of a woman, by and large, is not to put on a business suit, scheme and deal, and work her buns off to beat the boys. It doesn’t matter what your business is or how you do it, if your children are suffering, you should be at home.

Who can deny most of the world’s children are suffering?

I struggle to see why a Christian woman would join those ranks. Even if your children aren’t seemingly affected by your independent schedule, why look like a worldly woman?

Lastly, I strive not to offend you all, but may very well by saying that I don’t believe for a second that you’re winning souls for Christ by working in the corporate world. I don’t believe that’s your goal, either. I know it’s possible, because my dad can’t talk about income tax without talking about Scripture, but, um… brought anybody to church lately?

(That was harsh. I know it was. Some do make a difference - Thanks. Isn’t it irritating that I have to apologize for this in my own post? I guess I don’t have to.)

I’m also interested in what makes a business man think he’s accomplishing something. Pushing paper? I’ve always felt it a little bit, but I think the farm has pushed me over the edge. I don’t think we need cities, and skyscrapers, and Wall Street. I think that if you had a big bushel of zucchini in your garage, you’d understand why. You might not agree, because then you’d have to hitch up a horse instead of rev an engine, but you might understand.

Don’t be mad. I’m just 25. What do I know?

Supermassive Black Hole by Muse

I suffer from paranoia, claustrophobia, and sociophobia (and it looks like half of agoraphobia). However, I would call the first two “acute” because they only exist due to the last: my aversion to people. I suppose they’re all “acute” because I can get by. I always feel like people are looking at me, and it occasionally prevents me from going places. With the claustrophobia, it’s not so much that I’m afraid to be in small places as I’m afraid of places made small by people. Is there a fear of crowds? (My sociophobia is different from my distaste for morons, just so you know.)

There are several who don’t believe me, and a general observer probably wouldn’t either, but outside sources don’t have access to my mind. (That is, incidentally, why I dislike psychiatrists so much.) (Originally, I began that insert with the word “which” but I changed it to “that” because while writing in Word [because there’s little Internet at the franch], it was underlined in green. And we all know what that means.) (Is anyone else amused that my inserts have taken up more space in this paragraph than actual content?) I can’t count how many times I’ve been told I’m a people person. After the rest of this entry, you may be more inclined to believe that I don’t know myself very well.

I started a new job Monday. I take public transportation to get there. Monday and Tuesday were horrible. I got home and went straight to bed both nights. Wednesday got a little better, and I opted to go to church because I thought I could make it. Thursday and Friday were infinitely better. However, that change may have been chemical as I decided to start taking B12 again on Wednesday morning.

I’m like a mental patient. I feel better, so I stop taking it. I know better than that – I know that if I stop taking it, I stop being better. So, this is an encouragement for everyone to take care of their bodies. You are what you eat - you aren’t what you don’t. It’s not always mind over matter (as with my phobias), if you don’t take care of your body, it won’t work for you.

I don’t know how to behave in a professional setting. I mean, there’s intuition, but I don’t know about rules of conduct for superiors, etc. I’ve been working at a corporately owned coffee shop for a year and a half (superiors??)! And before that, I worked from home! I tend to speak in a normal tone, walk into anyone’s office, and ask a lot of questions. It works for me. However, there are two other fairly new women in the office who may find my behavior a little scandalous – they’re soft spoken, they whisper to me a lot when I’ve done something unorthodox, and I see they’re trying to make me more appropriate. (This is the part where you scoff and tell me I’m a people person.) One incident that particularly amused me: I just finished delivering mail and one of the ladies whisper-asks me, “Did you find out where he likes his mail put?” and I thought maybe she was going to tell me. When I said no and she looked at me with disappointment, I continued, “I’ve just been handing it to him,” and she looked at me like I’d offended royalty. It made me giggle in my head, like… like I was in The Devil Wears Prada and I had to go through some ritual just to avoid touching someone who keeps kosher. (Wait, what’s the religion where priests can’t touch infidels?)

Also, these women don’t know that I’m the daughter of someone who is actually in the office a lot. I look forward to when that clicks.

Jenni reassured me that moving from a mindless-er, um, coffee shop to a desk job is quite an adjustment. It is. However, I find myself doing some of the same things, and I find that some things are true and do not change. Namely, men can’t load the dishwasher. Whether they are your family or ones you work with, they just need help. (If you’re a man who can load the dishwasher, congratulations to you. Whatever.) I seem to be stocking the “condiment bar” a lot. I understand it’s my job, and I don’t have a problem with it, but I’m fairly certain that if I didn’t, men would stand in the kitchen and not know what to do without a stir stick. (Joking, but only a little.) I was at a wedding shower on Saturday where various wives were talking about their husbands cooking. A seasoned woman piped up with, “Dinner is a mystery to my husband. As far as he’s concerned, it just appears.”

That’s fine. I can’t carry heavy things. I must be sexist. In fact, I’m pretty sure I am.

I’m pretty sure I’m racist, a bigot, and politically incorrect, too. Let’s add radical to the list.

Friday, I became aware that it was my duty to order lunch for people. Mostly this came about when people started walking by my desk and asking, “What’s for lunch?” Well I don’t know, probably whatever you brought. But it turned out well, and I suppose it’ll help me get to know the area better.

Did you know that you can actually hire a service that will come to your office, pick up a large stack of paper, and go copy it for you? Yeah, that’s ridiculous. And after my two years going to the PO every day, why didn’t I know how easy and useful postage machines are? I wouldn’t have had to talk to the creepy PO guys every day!

When I get on public transportation in the morning, it’s never very full, but by the time we get closer to the city, there are people standing. I’ve wondered if I should get up and let someone else have my seat. Friday, I came home pretty late due to an event I’ll talk about later, but it was the one time I was so wired that I wanted to stand up on the ride. But, nobody would let me. Of course, that may have had something to do with the homeless man who followed me onto the train. Don’t tell my mother. She asked me to call her that night to let her know I’d gotten home safely, and I forgot. When she called me close to midnight, I didn’t mention the fan. I dunno, I feel camaraderie with people on the train – like 9/11. Like, if anyone tried funny business on the train, he’d be dogpiled. Maybe I’m wrong.

I went to the farm for one measly day this weekend. I had to go, though. Not only was my laundry piled up, but I had such a long week and I needed to get some rest. The farm has become like a weekend house for me. (I think I’m phasing out “franch.”) Well… boy am I glad I went because as I pulled up the long drive, I looked for Henry (as I always do), and I had a little heart attack as I saw something foreign in the pen.

Kip.

As I was in the drive, I called mom and probably yelled, “You didn’t tell me Hilde had the baby!” She didn’t know. I discovered baby Kip! What’s funny is that we had just resigned to the fact that Hilde certainly wasn’t pregnant. She was sold as “pregnant,” but never got as big as Buffy and Henry’s been around since Labor Day, so… But now Hilde is smug with her own baby. We don’t even know the sex because she’s basically said, “Forget you guys, I have my own baby now.”

Ominous.

Anyway, in celebration of my last day at some nameless corporately owned coffee establishment, I got a manicure and pedicure.

I hate these things; they make me uncomfortable, they hurt and/or tickle, and I usually get hit on by women. This time, the pain was minimal, I was able to withstand minor tickling, and no one hit on me.

In fact, someone who barely spoke English leaned into me and said, “You need eyebrow wax?” Um, no thank you.

What’s wrong with my eyebrows?

I wasn’t, however, able to work my massage chair because, while I may own and operate my own website, use a fancy sewing machine, and make my grandma’s computer print, I cannot work a self-explanatory (or so I’m told) remote control or switch lines on my cell phone.

I usually come away saying, “I could do better than this,” but this time I didn’t. So, thanks for the recommendation, Jenni.

Grandma comes to places with snacks. Recently, her snacks have been a trail mix by Sprouts that includes Toasted Corn. I love the corn. Last week, Grandma bought me some corn. It pertains to the next story; that’s the only reason I told you this one.

This weekend, in the life of Meagan, I walked down to the donkey pen to see if I could tempt Henry with some toasted corn…

…but I was distracted by the sound of a golf cart (okay, it makes no sound because it’s electric) headed toward a small herd of angus that had wandered onto our property.

(Uh, did I do the flash wrong on that one?) I thought Dad and Cowboy Cory were going to round them up and herd them on down the street, so I climbed Buddy’s fence and walked purposefully across his pasture toward the cows. Dad and Cory didn’t come, but I didn’t realize they weren’t until I was already there, however my presence caused the cows to scatter (even though there was a fence between us).

As I got to the fence and started taking pictures of the oddly small cattle, Buddy suddenly became interested in me. He ambled over and stole the corn I’d been saving for Henry.

(Yes, it’s corn in that yellow Hello Kitty container.) Then he nudged me, pushed me, and wiggled his oddly dexterous lips at me trying to find more. I climbed up onto the gate to watch the cows graze back toward me, and Buddy stayed with me. Over me, under me, pushing me, laying his large cumbersome head in my lap.

After I sat for a while and got sufficiently dirty, I hopped down and wandered off to the barn. As I approached, Nala, the neighbor’s Weimaraner, started barking at me like she didn’t know who I was.

So, instead of inciting an attack, I stood outside the barn and let Cowboy Cory berate her for her treatment of me. Then, I wandered around the barn and found my first deadly spider. (They are deadly, yeah?)

Dad squashed it. (Black Widow, in case you can’t tell. Click on it and it’ll get bigger. If you’re not chicken.)

It was slightly disconcerting to see that it was in the same stall Mom has been putting the kittens in during the day.

Speaking of the kittens, I returned to the breezeway from the barn and sat down with Alice and Jasper where I related the story of the black widow (and all things before) in a text message. (Apparently it was actually 3.)

Of course, the text was cut short by Alice who plucked a sticker from my jeans and got it stuck in her mouth. I grabbed her and ran in a panic to my mother who did an emergency sticker-ectomy with some tweezers.

That was frightening.

By the way, if someone saw my bare legs today, they’d probably think I was a cutter. The cats are getting heavier and sharper. That’s Pearlie’s biggest complaint: “Those kittens are too sharp.”

Today, I followed Mom back to Dallas to do some fabric shopping. Please note here that I was following my Mom. She passed a car, so I was passing with her. This jerk (it’s coming up) in a silver Pontiac cut in between us. I made sure to give him as much room as he was giving my mother, but he decided to flip me off anyway. Then, he slammed on his breaks so hard that his tires smoked and I could smell them. I honked.

A lot.

Then he did it again. When he got over to the right and I passed him with my mom, I put on my cruise so he could tailgate me all he wanted to appease his roadrage and I wouldn’t hit him.

Sometimes people are just jerks.

But anyway, some of you will be pleased to know that I managed to get her to (She thinks I railroaded because I was able to accomplish this in only one store when she had a list of several to go to. However, because I won, we got to eat at Kabab.) buy fabric for curtains in both back bedrooms. Thus far, there have been no window coverings. And while I’m okay with that while there’s an empty house, I doubted a house and yard full of Thanksgiving (or are we calling it my birthday this year?) guests would appreciate the lack of privacy due to no curtains. For some reason, she doesn’t trust me to finish the curtains. Maybe it’s because of that time I made a 12-square quilt in 9. Who knows. But anyway, I’ll assemble them, she’ll finish, and they’ll be up in time. They’re awesome. I’m just letting you know.

Oh, and then tonight I had a guy lump me with all women everywhere. He made assumptions about me, then told me how I felt, then wouldn’t let me correct him. To top it off, he said he’d pray for me. What’s that about?

Five more days of serving coffee to the most high maintenance people in the world. :) Sometimes I wonder why some of them don’t buy espresso machines and make it themselves. It would be cheaper. But then they’d have no one to gripe at when it came out wrong. Ah, I say it with humor. It’s amusing, but only in a sad, depressing way. Anything someone can control…

Rumor has it, Obama’s going to try to ban handguns. This is lunacy. “And… is the Constitution going to play into that decision at all? I mean, there’s no reasonable reason he should succeed, right?” I don’t know.

In A Little While, the Hanson version

Today, I watched a video of a keynote speaker as he presented on passion (and personal branding, but that doesn’t have anything to do with this). I’m not going to link it because there was profanity in it that I don’t think is cool. (Kids, profanity is not cool. It’s stupid and it makes you look stupid.)

This guy said stop doing what doesn’t make you happy, because you can waste just as much money doing what makes you happy.

This in itself is not the revelation, because I’ve been saying this basically my whole life. Every human does at some point - it’s nature to want what you want. But my mom says, “Sometimes you have to do things you don’t want to.”

No you don’t.

You only have to if you’re a sellout.

Revelation: I’m a sellout.

I’m tired of working a stupid job that makes me miserable. (I know! Only you can determine how you feel. Whatever.) I want to quilt. I want to paint. I’m good at it.

This keynote speaker said (paraphrase), “We’re starting businesses! We’re not partying!” I.E. word hard. This is a basic principle; I know this, my parents taught me this, even if they think I squandered the lesson.

Another revelation: It’s not news to me that school is not important, but it occurred to me: No one I know is working in the field they went to school for.

(Of course, this fell apart when I though of Jenny, so don’t nitpick.)

(Can I use two colons in one sentence?)

Conclusion: I’m giving up sleep.

ps. This post brought to you by the phenomenon known as Midnight Genius.

mom: “You like funny.”
me: “I do like funny.”

What I said: I listen to an exorbitant amount of classical music.
addendum: But I still can’t tell one piece from another.

Who wants to see Twilight with me? (*wink wink nudge nudge*) I can’t decide if I want to see it the night it comes out or not. If I did, would it be stupid of me to dress up like Hermione Granger? In informal boycott, of course. Maybe a very pale, ethereal Hermione?

I’m almost done with the 4th book. I’ve slowed down to get some other things done. But, I’ve taken the week off from quilting. (It’s nice to be my own boss of something and say, “I’m taking the week off.”)

Though, I’m very excited about what’s planned for Melissa’s! It has to do with my favorite Starbucks card… that I had to order off of eBay. Whatever.

I heard it was $2.79 somewhere in the Dallas area today.