Banana growed up...gitting murried...

Two days in a row? Crazy! I know! I was looking up blog post ideas and most of them said the most important characteristic of a blog is consistent posting. One of my issues is not being consistent. Posts are like accidents here. I also added up the number of hours I'm on the internet every day and the grand total was....a lot. Most of which is switching between tabs just in case something interesting appears.

Yeah.

So I figure I might as well put my down time to some use and write.

I am happy for my sister. It was difficult for me at first, because I always imagined I would be with her when she fell in love and we'd stay up all night swapping stories and she could tell me how he is more wonderful than any man she could have imagined and I could tell her about all the mistakes I've made and she could tell me how they wanted to get married and how happy she is to be with this wonderful man. But I wasn't there, so it happened all surprisingly and it was a little hard for me to understand.

But I am actually excited to meet this new addition to our crazy family. And make sure that he is worthy of my sister. Because that's still in the back of my head, no matter how at peace I am with this :D. This is just a weird thing to come to terms with. Hannah's going to be an Olson. It's like she's not mine any more. I don't own her though? And she's happy. So I shouldn't feel like this.....regardless of the validity of that feeling, mostly I am happy for her. Happy that she is ready to take this big huge giant step, that she is smart enough to have it planned out, and that she is in love enough to make this commitment.

Good job Han :) I am SO PROUD OF YOU!

25 Things That Make Me Happy

25. Walking out the gate to the car park and not seeing a single other person. This is even better in the morning when the air is crisp. It's like I'm the only person on the earth, and it is wonderful.

24. Fairy tales, especially interesting re-tellings. I have a book of fairy tales that my daddy bought me when I was little. It's still one of my favorite books. 

23. When the perfect song comes on to the radio. This is best when driving a car full of friends on the way to an adventure, then proceeding to belt out the lyrics like maniacs. 

22. Circle discussions on the grass with the girls while the boys play frisbee (seriously, that was the best summer ever)

21. Old ladies with old photographs in their purses. I love to hear the stories.

20. Children playing happily (not noisily or messily or crazily).

19. Making dinner and getting sincerely complimented on my attempt.

18. Train rides to anywhere.

17. When people are able to debate in a civil manner rather than argue and assert their intelligence/dominance/righteousness through cruel insults and ridiculous accusations.

16. Beautiful women.

15. Patient teachers that care more for a student's growth and development than grades.

14. The extent to which my daddy loves ice-cream.

13. Letters from my little sisters.

12. When I get my makeup the way I like it. This is quite a feat. 

11. Successfully placing random items in other shopper's trolleys at IKEA.

10. Being told I had a positive effect on someone I don't know that well.

9. Having what someone needs and being in a position to give it.

8. Books that force me to think.

7. Music that takes me to another place.

6. Reminiscing with old friends. 

5. Having more money in the bank than I thought I did.

4. Thai food. Particularly Thai tea. It always tastes like magic. Like I'm privy to all the secrets of the universe if I only listen closely enough.

3. Messages in my "Other" folder on facebook.

2. Old churches with ornate carvings and paintings. 

1. Soft, wet kisses.

*BONUS*: Chopin Preludes

This is why I'm not Mormon anymore.

Name the moment that continues to define who you are today.

For me it was last spring. April. My second semester at BYU was coming to a slow and painful end. I was not at all happy with myself. I was unraveling, every end of me. Backing myself into a corner like a wounded animal. I felt trapped by school. No one cared if I went to class. No one noticed. So I didn't go. I didn't need to wash myself or eat properly because no one was checking up on me. I didn't care any more. What was the real point? I was going to therapy and seeing my bishop (my third, dear goodness, since I was twelve years old), fighting against this struggle that constantly got the better of me. I was being assaulted at church Sunday after Sunday after Sunday with doctrines, delivered by teachers that seemed so fake. No one cared. Those who knew about my 'issue' also knew that I was strong-willed, and assumed  I would overcome it if I just put my mind to it.

We were taught at church how to be good, chaste young women. We were told how we should never, ever under any circumstances date a young man with a pornography problem.

Because they are dirty.

Because boys who watch pornography are dangerous creatures.

Boys who watch pornography will never respect you. They probably masturbate (cue gasps and wondering what the hell masturbating is throughout the Relief Society). They will want your body. Their minds are contorted. The devil has a hold on them. They will drag you down that slippery slope and before you know it they will have you in their beds. They can't even control it. You will be helpless.

A good young woman who wants a good temple marriage needs to cut such men out of her life. Tell them you would be happy to talk to them when they've gotten over their 'issue', but until then they are not worth your time. Because you don't want to be near boys who act like that. <-----THIS WAS THE ADVICE WE WERE GIVEN. BY THE STAKE PRESIDENT. IN A SINGLES WARD RELIEF SOCIETY MEETING.

Do you know how that felt? Sitting there the whole time and thinking...what? I'm not worthy to even be TALKED TO? Because I like PORN? And this is ME. The WOMAN. Who is naturally supposed to be so PURE. I must be so far gone. I must be such an awful person. I obviously need constant supervision because I can't control myself. I was told to get rid of my laptop. I was told to come running to my bishop every time I had a single THOUGHT that was in the wrong place. Pray constantly, Danie. Fill your life with God. Fill your life with homework and washing dishes. Fill your life with preparing for a mission, for marriage, for children. Remember all that is broken and lost because you want Satan's way. A fiancee. Parent's trust. The sacrament. Time. Love. Worth. (Strangely enough, not my calling. Probably because I was good at it.)

This is why I was seeing a therapist. This is why I couldn't concentrate on school. This is why I stopped going to church, why I left early from meetings. I couldn't take it, anything. I was suffocating under this huge PROBLEM that defined me from sunrise to sunset.

Too much too much too much too much too much too much too much too much too much too much

And then I met someone who didn't think I was a dirty whore for having the cravings that I have. And it was that moment, when he kissed me after knowing everything I was, that changed me into who I am today. He taught me how I was normal. And go ahead and judge if you like, but he helped me to understand myself and put at ease my cravings simply by validating them. Now there was a solution, and that solution was to leave the source of the excruciating pressure I was being put under. And so I rejected the Mormon faith.

And what a release that was.

It was not a coward's way out. I was turning my back on my entire belief system, having to build a new paradigm from the ground up. But now I am at peace with myself and the human way that I am. I don't feel...lesser.

This may come as a shock to a lot of you. But I'm okay with that. I didn't even mean to write about this. It just came out. I suppose it's time for people to know.

I do not believe pornography is wrong.
I do not believe masturbating is wrong.
I do not believe participating in sexual acts before marriage is wrong.
I do not believe being aroused is wrong.
I do not believe reading sexual literature is wrong.
I believe that every human is entitled to an all-encompassing understanding of their personal sexuality.
I do not believe anyone should be afraid of their bodies or their thoughts.
I do not believe anyone should be shunned or looked down upon for believing and/or living the above.

I believe these things because I live them and feel at peace with myself. More at peace than when I was a Mormon girl trying my hardest to obey all the rules and having to deal with constant failure and alienation. Now I am okay.

Amsterdam...I've written that so many times it looks odd...

I try to complete at least one productive task per day. Usually that's all I can manage (heh usually I can't even do one). Today's task was filling out my passport renewal form. Why might I put myself through that frustration, you might ask.

BECAUSE I'M GOING TO AMSTERDAM.

WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA HAHAHAHAHAA!!!!!!!!!!!

Yeah. I'm a wee bit excited. As in I just took a break from this post to look up flights again....oh I am so excited. I have never traveled this much in one year. And I get to go with my dearest boyfriend, who has never been on an airplane. This is gonna be SO MUCH FUN.

SO MUCH FUN.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!

*ahem*

But first I have to get this application filled out and sent off, and I regret to inform all of those who believe I am a functional and capable adult.....writing rote information into segmented boxes is seriously stressing me out. It will be so worth it, though. So I've taken a break from it, and I'll be researching Amsterdam and the many things to do there (you know, besides pot and prostitutes :D)

('Amsterdam' by Coldplay....one of my favorite songs...)

An Unconventional Childhood, Part I of ???

I think it is safe to say that I had an unconventional childhood.

For a start, my parents were divorced. I think I was five. Maybe four. I remember watching through the bars on the landing banister, my mom and dad at the front door. I don't remember what I heard. I just remember my daddy in a black jacket, holding a suitcase. Mom giving him a look that said 'leave and don't look back'. I was supposed to be in bed, but something was going on and I had to be part of it. I was used to my daddy leaving at night--that was when he went to work, night shifts for a security company. But this was different, this was final. Somehow I knew he was leaving. But why, but why? I couldn't call out because I was supposed to be in bed. This scene was not meant for a toddler's eyes. That's what I see in my head, though, when I think of the divorce. The image of my daddy, walking out the front door.

For another, my best friend was my sister. That doesn't happen often anymore. Usually there's an intense competition between siblings, a need for outside attentions away from a suffocatingly close family. But my sister was what I had. I was truly awful to her. Bossy, unkind. I ate her chocolate. I got mad at her at school. I did everything I could to assert my dominance. How kind she was, though. How lovely. The perfect playmate. We would wear the same clothes, have our hair braided in matching plaits. We would lay awake at night in our room and tell fantasy stories of all the adventures running around in our heads. Whisper secrets to each other, giggle. Take turns humming into the fan during stifling summer nights. See how long we could keep it up until Mom came in a told us off. I remember we'd say our prayers, kneeling next to our beds, and I'd always stay there far after I'd finished to appear more pious. Hannah and her beautiful cheesy smile, and her animal love, and her wild composure. I would not love my childhood had I not been loved by Hannah.

I moved around a lot. The one sure thing I always took with me, no matter what, is Bob Bear. I got Bob Bear from my uncle Tommy when I was four years old. I still have him.

Bob has been smothered in tears, snot, vomit, sweat, screams. I've told him all of my darkest confessions. He's the first one to know of a boy I like. He's the first one to hear of a fight I got into and WHY I AM SO RIGHT. I've thrown him across the room and then run over to save him and fix his broken limbs. I will have Bob until the day that I die. I'll probably have him buried with me. Once my mom put him in the washing machine and he came out looking like a sheep and I'm not sure I quite forgive her for that (sorry mom :) ). Once I attempted to convince my schoolmates that he came alive when no one else was around. I carried him in my backpack when I was in Iceland. When I went to therapy I would come home and sob endlessly into his belly. His face is squashed to one side because I have hugged him for fifteen, nearly sixteen, years in the same position.

I quite enjoyed writing this, so I'll probably do it again soon. Thanks for the suggestion momma :)

P.S. My mom has a blog. If you want the link message me.