Look no further my friends, because today in the voice of my dear blogging friend, Jon Acuff of Stuff Christians Like, I have devised a way for you to tell if you are a Christian Hipster or not.

You Might Be a Christian Hipster If:

1. Your church resembles a cross between Ikea and  Urban Outfitters (2 pts). Raw beams are hanging around, it feels like a loft with all of the exposed building interiors, and there are trendy wicker chairs in the lobby.
2. You don’t even meet in a church. Instead you gather with your cool friends in a coffee house (2 pts), a bar (3 pts), or better yet, a night club (4pts).
3. Your worship pastor has highlights (2pts).
4. You don’t “fellowship with other believers,”  instead you get together with your friends for breakfast at kitschy breakfast nooks (2 pts). Add 1pt if your breakfast place of choice has eclectic art all over the walls.
5. Your bible study meets in an organic fair trade coffee house (2pts).
6. You don’t like “Christian Music”, but instead you like “Christians who make music” (2pts)
7. You own a pair of Tom’s shoes (2pts). Add 1pt for each additional pair.
8. You own the entire collection of Don Miller’s Books (2 pts). Add 5 pts if you went to his book tour and got a signed copy of Blue Like Jazz.
9. You use any of the following phrases several times a day: “Awakened,” “walking around alive,” “in remembrance,” “seeing the burning bushes in my life.” 2 pts for every time you use them.
10. You listen to hymns sung by Christians who make music, but won’t listen to hymns sung by Christian Bands (2 pts for each hymn you have).
11. You have a “Through the Bible in a Year” app on your iPhone (5 pts).
12. Your bible is covered in duct tape (2 pts).
13. If you live in California, you graduated from any of the following colleges: Biola University, Concordia University, Vanguard University, or Azusa Pacific University (2 pts). Add 3 pts if you were a music or film major at any of those schools.
14. When you aren’t wearing your Tom’s Shoes, you are wearing Rainbow sandals. (2 pts for every pair you own).
15. You currently are wearing a bracelet that you got when you were on a mission trip with your church (2 pts). Add 5 pts if it was made or given to you by an orphan.

0 – 15 Points:
You aren’t a hipster at all. In fact, you love fellowshiping with your brothers and sisters in Christ in the foyer over tea and cookies. Do you live in the bible belt by chance?

16 – 30 Points:
Your half a hipster. You like Rainbow sandals and Toms shoes, but you probably meet for bible study at someone’s house just like other normal Christians. Your worship pastor might not be that cool, but you still like him. You do love Don Miller, and you probably have at least 3 friendships bracelets made by orphans from mission trips.

31+ Points:
Put on those original Oakleys and head over to the Koffee Klatch for bible study! You’re too cool for school!

So, here’s a first list of why today is a good day:

Today is a good day because:

1) I have smart friends that know how to speak wisdom into my life in context of my strengths and passions. Not to mention that they let me cook authentic Mexican food for them, and then laugh with me over tortillas, conversation, and beer.

2) I’m going to the mountains with friends on Sunday. Something about pine trees and mountain horizons that make my soul free.

3) I’m thinking about starting to paint. I have no idea how to paint. Not a single clue. But I’m convinced it will help with releasing creative juices.

4) I have a growing stack of books on my bedside table. Including “Make Success Measurable” which is a workbook about defining and achieving your life goals.

I can’t help but feel like today the world is my oyster. Between a few bottles of paint, some time in the mountains, and a new perspective on success…I’m ready to go for it.

Why is today a good day for you?

During the course of conversation we started laughing about all of the crazy and untrue things that my parents used to tell us as kids.  They would tell us stories to make us stop crying, to try to avoid tantrums in public, or to give us “explanations” to end the ongoing barrage of questioning (“Why is the sky blue? Why do we have to stand in line? Can’t you make this go any faster? Why can’t I have candy…”). My mom laughed as she recalled all of the made up “truths” that consisted of our childhood, but as the stories piled up one at a time I started to find the whole thing not very comical anymore. Quickly, as the evidence was being laid out, a new truth was becoming very apparent.

My parents were big fat liars.

The thought echoed as it dawned on me. I was not having fun at Taco Sunday anymore – I was getting miffed! I looked at my parents and blurted out, “You guys were LIARS!” My mom looked at my dad. They both burst out laughing. “You try having four screaming brats, and tell me that you wouldn’t lie to them to get them to shut up!”

Now, I have to be honest, I am a little indignant over the little joys of childhood and life that I might have missed out on because I was such a good and gullible child. My mom still holds to the notion that they weren’t lies, they were just “good parenting”. But, considering that my opinion in the matter is not objective, I will discuss the evidence with you, and you can render the verdict on whether my parents were just “creative” or if they were indeed liars.

Exhibit A: The Music Truck

Most kids know that in the summer when it is hot, if you happen to hear music wafting from a big yellow truck it can only mean one thing: the Ice Cream Man. I am imagining that most kids begged their parents for coins so that they could frolic out to the street and wait for him to pull over. Choosily they would pick from the beautiful pictures on the side of the truck and the nice ice cream man would sell them a refreshing summer treat – maybe even one with gum ball eyes!

Yeah, except if you were me and my brother, that isn’t how the story goes. When we were small, and we would hear the music coming out of the truck my parents would exclaim,”Oh listen, the music truck is here! What a nice man! He drives through the streets all day long, playing his music so children can hear how beautiful it is!”

Was there ever a mention of ice cream and sugary goodness? Absolutely not. And like little idiots we would nod our heads and say, “Yeah, that man sure is really nice to spend all day driving around so that we can hear his music!”

Please notice this picture doesn’t include me as a child, standing in line. BECAUSE I NEVER DID.

Right. Thanks mom and dad. That’s years of ice cream that we were jipped out of.

Exhibit B: It’s A Small World…of Demons?

Most children go on It’s a Small World when they are small. Their parents sit in the long line so that their joyful children can sit in the little boats, and see the dolls from all over the world – proclaiming that we are all united and equal even though we are all different. Except, if you were in my family, you didn’t. I was in college before I rode that ride for the first time. Why? Because my parents told us that the dolls were demons.

Seriously. These days my mom adamantly claims that it’s not true and she never would have said such a thing. Both my parents say that they simply discouraged us from going on the ride because between four kids they didn’t want to hear “It’s A Small World After All…” for the rest of their lives.

The funny part is that us kids all remember being told that there were demons in that ride. Thanks mom and dad.

Exhibit C: Evil Grocery Store CEOs

This story is a classic example of my mom’s ability to lie. When we were kids, there were four of us and getting through the grocery store could be quite the trick. So, my mom made up a game. Each time we needed to go to the store, we’d look through the pantry and make a list. My mom would explain:

The CEOs who own the grocery stores are evil men. They put candy and toys at the eye level of little kids to make them behave badly when their parents are trying to shop for food. The evil CEOs want you to be naughty, kick, scream and cry to make your parents buy the candy and toys.  So, in order to win again the evil grocery store CEOs we have to get through the entire store, and ONLY buy what is on our list.

You know what I would do? I would waltz through the toy isle like a little schmuck. I would put my hands over my eyes and announce to my mom, “I am not even LOOKING at the toys mom. I see the candy bars over there, but I am not going to ask for one because then the evil CEOs will win!”

Then when we got to the car, my mom would throw a little “dance party” because we got out of the store without buying candy or toys, no tantrums were thrown, and the evil CEOs had lost the war.

I was jipped. There are years of Barbie Dolls and Candy Bars that I never got. Thanks a lot mom.

Exhibit D: Ace of Base vs. The Beatles

My first music video I ever saw was “I Saw the Sign” by Ace of Base. I remember it still, I was at a sleep over party for a classmate when I was in sixth grade. She was popular and cool, and I was…well… not. At that age my mom still dressed me in matching vest and short outfit sets – it was a particularly horrible and embarrassing part of my life. Fashion aside, I also knew nothing in the way of pop-culture. I didn’t listen to cool radio, I listened to bad Christian radio. In fact, my mom made it a point to tell me that non-Christian radio was demon possessed. Again, this is a claim that she would now fight me on, saying that “I would never say that!” But don’t be fooled, she used to say it.

It was late at night and all of the popular girls wanted to watch this oh-so-popular music video. I knew my mom wouldn’t want me to watch, but I was already wearing a short/vest outfit and couldn’t take too many chances. I was too embarrassed to tell the other girls that not only was I a fashion disaster, but I also couldn’t watch popular demon possessed music videos. So I what any unpopular girl in a vest set would do – I watched it. And I remember Ace of Base had all of their clothes on,  and were playing guitars and drums – arguable totally demonic.  Actually, the ironic part is that the stage was engulfed in flames at some point. I felt so awful while watching this oh-so-cool and “evil” video that I felt sick until I got home the next morning.

Bawling, I confessed everything to my mother – the video, how cool it was, the fully clothed band, the guitars and the flames. I didn’t want to be a “bad girl” that listened to demonic music. You know what my mom said to me!? “Now you know why I told you not to watch those things. Now those images will be burned into your mind for the rest of your life.”

Seriously. I’m not joking.

So, yes I can see every part of that sleepover, and every part of that video. But clearly, not because it was demonic. But because I was traumatically lied to. Thanks mom.

Here’s the kicker though. Growing up, my dad loved The Beatles. Which meant that all of us kids loved The Beatles. My first favorite album was St. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. I loved it because “With a Little Help From My Friends” was also the opening song for “The Wonder Years” and Fred Savage was cuter than cute.

Now for those of you who follow The Beatles music, you know that they did a lot of drugs toward the end of their career. Ever listen The White Album? Right. Acid trip induced music I am sure. Brilliant, and absolutely drug enhanced. BUT, let’s not forget that Ace of Base is demonic.

“Acid music? Yeah, that’s totally cool kids. Just don’t listen to “I Saw the Sign,” cause you’ll go to hell.“

Thanks Mom and Dad.

Exhibit E: Chicken Skin

Ok, this story is one of the more embarrassing stories in today’s line up. I say MORE embarrassing, because it is not THE MOST embarrassing believe it or not.

I grew up on a very healthy diet, thank you mom. There were no Doritos chips, Capri Suns, or Snack Packs to be found in my house. Only Juicy Juice (100% real juice!), fruit, and wheat sandwich bread. So you can imagine that boneless skinless chicken was also a staple food group.

Imagine this scene unfolding: I’m in college. It’s Premium night. Meaning, that every Thursday instead of the normal gruel, the cooking staff would pull out all the stops and make steak, or fried chicken, or some other fancy dish. It was actually pretty amazing. All of my new friends from my dorm had got their food, and twelve of us are sitting at a long table. As I began to eat, I peel away the top layer of crunchy skin, and begin digging into my chicken.

Much to my horror, my friends proceeded to bite straight into the chicken, munching THE SKIN! Now please understand, this act in my mind was on par with eating the intestines, or the eye balls. Never in my life had I seen someone eat the skin. It was part of the bird you simply threw away. As my friend starts chewing it, my mouth falls open. I have to stop her. I tell her, “NO NO NO. You don’t eat that part!!!”

The whole table gets silent. Someone says to me, “Jenni, the skin is the best part. Have you never had fried chicken before?”

Between astonishment and laughter from my dinner pals, I was quickly educated in the ways of fried chicken. I soon discovered that not only can you eat the skin, but IT IS THE BEST PART.

Promptly I finished my amazing dinner and called my mother. “What do you mean you can eat the skin!?” I yelled, “You’ve been holding out on me!!”

“Sorry,” my mom said. “I just always thought it was gross. Oopsies!”

Thanks a lot mom. Jipped again.

Exhibit F: The Prison in Irvine

This one might take the cake in terms of embarrassing parental lies. For those of you who are local, you know that there is a HUGE corporate building off of Jamboree and the 405 freeway. All of my life, when driving by this building, my dad has pointed to it and said, “Look, there’s the prison! See those huge silver towers at the top? That’s where the guards sit. And when people try to break out, they can shoot at them.”

It always looked like a very nice prison, very upscale and classy. But after all, this was Irvine – land of tan and taupe. So, I figured it was where they kept the upscale and classy prisoners.

My first week at UC Irvine, while driving by the prison, I said to a car full of Bio Majors (and every knows that they are some of the smartest kids at UCI), “Isn’t it scary living this close to a prison?”

Crickets. Dead Silence.

“What do you mean Jenni?”

I pointed at the building. “Right there. That’s a prison. With the big silver guard towers. Isn’t that scary?”

More Silence.

“Jenni, are you pointing at the building that says Samsung on the side??”

Now it was my turn to be silent. I had never imagined that it was anything other than a prison. I mean, my dad had been calling it a prison for as long as I could remember. But now that she said it, it was a classic corporate building. And it did say Samsung on the side.

I blushed scarlet. Utterly speechless.

Right there in the car I pulled out my phone, demanding to speak to my father. Hearing the story, he laughed so hard he wept.“I had no idea that you really thought it was a prison! It says Samsung right there on the side of the building!!”

“But I never figured that you would just randomly LIE to me for no reason! I’d never thought about it – I didn’t think I had to!!”

Thanks a lot dad.

The Verdict?

So as you can see, not all of the “stories” my parents told me were simply to keep me quite in the store, or keep me from having too much candy. Sure it started out that way – but obviously somehow they got carried away. Funny how the lines between “story” and “lie” can be so blurry sometimes. And sure, while telling your kids that it’s really just a Music Truck, I can think of no fathomable reason to continually tell your children lies that make them look like an idiot well into their twenties.

So make an assessment for yourself. I vote that my parents are just flat out liars.

As a reader what does this mean to you? Well, for starters, a face lift! The look and feel of my blog has been updated, as well as having my own URL. Don’t worry though, my word press URL will redirect you, so you can still get my stories and blogs.

For me however, it means that I am officially on my own site, and have graduated from novice-writer blogging to my five friends, to being “dot-comed,” with my very own web page. I feel grown up

So for those of you who already read me, know me, and love my writing – thanks for continuing to support me! And if you’re as excited as I am, tell your friends about www.jennibrownwrites.com!!

(Ps- special shout out to Minister Web Designer for all of your help in getting me set up. You’re the man!)

One guy, way in the back, rose to his feet. Everyone peeked through the dark to see if anyone was standing. The man was in his mid fifties or so, and from the looks of it (it was dark mind you) he seemed to be a person who normally isn’t in a church. The pastor stalled the music a bit longer. He kept talking, coaxing others to join and stand up. More music. More tension. Music. Tension.

Finally, the pastor begins talking to the one man who is standing. He asks everyone to give a round of applause for this guy who has decided to give his life to Jesus. The room erupts with cheering, shouting, whistling and applause. I almost lost my lunch.

I have not and cannot explain what rises up inside of me every time I think of this moment – but I get incredibly ANGRY. I can’t help but feel like we are a bunch of those pyramid-scheming-network-marketing people trying to con our friends into buying into this religion business. And when someone wants to pray the prayer, we are supposed to get super excited and clap – saying, “Yeah man, we got one.”

Immediately after admitting that I think this way, I feel incredibly guilty. The reality is that if this man is having a life changing experience (which could totally be the legitimate case), who am I to be angry about it? Shouldn’t I be celebrating the fact that his life is about to change? And even if I wasn’t a church-going-person, shouldn’t I at least be happy that he has decided to commit to a good cause? I should be commending his efforts to live a “nicer” life.

Do We Have to Be Weird?

I am thinking the anger happens because of a disconnection between the scene in church I’d described, and how God plays out for me in my own life. Instead of seeing an accurate picture, I am reminded of a few groups that I’d rather not be associated with.

  Have you ever been talking to someone who believes in a conspiracy theory? Or someone who believes in Aliens? Or someone who believes that we should be living on the Akan 40 Day Calendar to alter our states of consciousness and become more pure beings of energy? Yeah, after talking with them for about five minutes, they lose you. Once they really get into the pithy parts of their beliefs, they start using really impacted words. Words that have HUGE meaning all tucked inside of them, to the point where it is hard to follow even a sentence. It almost seems as if they are speaking of another language. And most of the time, they toss it out there like it is “normal people” language.  “Oh you know, when the aliens return to reclaim the rightful remnants for the 4th universe.” Right, of course, I was just thinking that.

And you might nod your head, but inside you are thinking two things: 1) What the hell are they talking about? 2) They don’t really believe this sh** do they?

On a smaller scale, listening to the way that Christians talk sometimes reminds me of this. I mean, think about the way we talk about God – “I’m really just experiencing the fullness of God right now.” or “God has given me the peace that surpasses all understanding, and I know that He will provide.” or “I am really praying for all of those prodigal sons and daughters out there, that they can just be covered God’s grace, and experience the Blood of the Lamb.”

REALLY GUYS? What the hell does any of that mean?

Since when did having a relationship with God mean that you have to talk like you are from another planet? Can’t we just be real people first? Talk like our friends in regular words? Not speak with a voacbulary that makes sense only you grew up inside of the church (or if you had a “Christian-ese Translational Dictionary”)?

I know there are verses in the bible that talk about being different, being “a city on a hill,” and letting your light shine and all of that – but I don’t know if Jesus meant that you were supposed to form a club that made outsiders want to reach for the tin foil hats – in fear that we don’t start trying to read their thoughts.

Ok, I am having a little fun with this. We aren’t that bad. But there are moments where I start thinking this way – usually when I have friends that don’t normally go to church attend a service. I begin to pick up on all of the little cultural nuances that normally I don’t notice. Maybe it’s seeing it through the eyes of a newcomer that make me question parts of our protocol. Yes, the ribbon dancer in the back of the service is weird. Yes, a person screaming “JESUS!!” at the topic of their lungs in the middle of worship is a bit odd. Yes, the worship leader singing random spiritual words doesn’t make sense. And I am not saying that any one of these things is bad, or that they shouldn’t happen – I just don’t always understand the purpose of them. I think that we do them mostly because it’s just what we have always done.

Jesus Salesmen

It makes me mad because I don’t like feeling like I have to sell Jesus. Like he is a product and we have created a culture around this product. We are trying to get others to buy into our product, and our culture. “See, Jesus is cool. Be like us. Listen to the bad music on the Fish Radio, carry your bible around, and begin talking about the Spirit of Christ like he is real person standing next to you.”  It seems that the more people we can convince to do this, the better Christians we are.

It makes me mad because I’m afraid we lose God in all of that. Or maybe not so much lose Him, because it’s not like we forget  him while we listen to Michael W. Smith or Zoey Girl or SuperChick (yes, I had to go looking for some of those band names, I didn’t know them off the top of my head) – but maybe God is bigger than bad radio. Bigger than inclusive language and eloquent prayers before eating in a restaurant (which good way to show the people at the table next to you that you are believers!)

God Likes Beer, Rap Music and Cusses. Right?

What I am getting at this this – In my mind, God likes beer. Yep, likes a really good beer. And rap music, even the kind with cussing. And God likes art, especially when it includes naked ladies. God likes cooking, and listening to great Indie Artists while dancing in the kitchen over a good pot of Jambalaya. And God likes Dance – even the kind of dancing that some church ladies call provocative. And God likes nightclubs – the kind that are thick and smoky with parties that go on until 2am. And God is really jazzed on science – even the kind that is devoted to proving He doesn’t exist. And God likes literature – even books too racy to be in schools, or the books that are angry at Him, or the ones that don’t belong in the religious section of Barnes and Noble.  God might have a Facebook. God might Twitter. God has emotions – He gets stoked on things, and gets upset with things. I think He get’s angry sometimes. God cusses sometimes. He gets mad and lets a really good one fly.

I like this God better. A God who likes beer is a God who I want to be around. And not only because I like beer, but because after spending most of my life chasing after this deity that we call God, I feel like I know him in the same way that you’d know a really old friend. And my really old friend is big enough to handle a little beer, a little Facebook, and a little honesty.  Maybe this is just me projecting who I want God to be – but in my soul, I know that God is more real than a Sales Manager that wants to improve my monthly quota.

I’m not trying to make God less than he should be, or to be disrespectful in anyway – I just get angry when we have to make God this lifestyle thing – all complicated and surrounded by weird unattractive culture, and then try to convince people that we are right.

Can’t God just be normal? Can’t God be a cool guy who likes Taco Tuesday and Negro Modelos? Can’t God just be plain? Someone who meets you where you are at – and doesn’t care if you cuss? Does he have to make you carry around a bible and convert the guys who change your oil? Because I think my Midas Man is fine. I’ll tell him whatever he wants to know about God and who He is to me, but I don’t know that telling him about the Transcendence of the Spirit is really going to make sense to Midas Man. If anything, I think it would push him the other way.

Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I’m disrespectful. Maybe God hates rap, and I’m about to get chastised for trying to think otherwise. Maybe there is this “Holy Buffer” the separates the goodness of God from the bad crap in the world – and it gets me all uncomfortable. Maybe the ribbon dancer in the back of the church is right – I should just grow my hair long, get elastic pants like her and praise God by waving a flag to acoustic worship music. Maybe the culture is right on. I could be angry for all of the wrong reasons. I would just love it if I didn’t have to sell Jesus. Is that ok?

Anyway, I don’t know if this a question that can be solved in one blog post. So, I will have to pray about it. And maybe we can all talk a little bit about it.

But with that, brothers and sisters in Christ, I hope that the eternity past to the eternity future of glory with Jesus resides with you throughout the rest of your day. Thanks for reading with me, and stay in His Grip.

Blessings.

Somewhat unexpected to us, our business became pushed aside as two girls walked into the house (I’ve just recently moved, and I am currently living with a friend). Both girls were young, just barely in their twenties. One had a mostly shaved head, except for strategic patches of longer hair, making a perfectly good Mohawk. Her girlfriend had pink hair with neon yellow sections. One had a tattoo on her forearm, and both of them had facial piercings. They greeted us and asked for my host, saying that they’d made plans for breakfast.

This was the best interuption I have had all week.

Laptops were turned off and papers were pushed away as my house-host announces that she is making her “world famous” breakfast sandwiches – which so happen to be in “Top 5 Favorites” list. The girls plopped themselves down at the table and quickly began asking questions about the non-profit.

Both girls were hysterical, fast-talking, and acute in terms of what they like and what they don’t. We talked about puppy mills, non-profits, and Orange County. I was sad when breakfast was over and we had to say “goodbye” and return to our communications agenda.

I bring them up in my writing because our interaction Friday morning was a surprising indicator of how much I have changed in the last five years. Specifically, I remember being slightly homophobic in my early twenties. Not that I thought they were diseased or anything, just that at 18 I had never personally known a homosexual. Somehow growing up in the church sent me mixed signals concerning what to think, or how to interact with them. It made me think that they were lost, or were abused or something. That may or may not be the case for most practicing lesbians and gays, but it was an idea that I had a hard time shaking from my head.

I would say that these fantastic girls were lost in some ways. But, not because they are lesbians with an interesting outward appearance – but rather, simply because they are twenty. It through their fun conversation that I started thinking about where I was five years ago. I know I was lost, trying to find my place in the world, feeling out what I thought about abortion, drugs, sexuality and having gay friends. Not experimenting with any of these things, because I was too much of a “good child” to have that kind of freedom.

And in contrast, I love that these girls have the ability to be that free. Admittedly, they are angry at certain things. They like San Francisco because it is more accepting and they don’t get looked at funny by us “Church going people.” They like Marilyn Mansion and hate 40 year olds with puppies and boob jobs. Its clear that they are flushing out what they think about drugs, sexuality, culture, acceptance – much like I did at their age.

Anyway – I’m not trying to create something too deep and meaningful out of our coffee and egg sandwiches. I just realized that I  love knowing people that are very different than me. I think it helped me see that even if we are different, we can be very similar. I appreciate that they can struggle, and remind me that I struggle too. And while it never I never went through a facial piercing phase, I can empathize how hard twenty can be.

I like my new friends. I think I’ll keep them around.

The Background Story

On Valentine’s Day, as you might have read, I found myself single. So, I did what any sensible, sexy, single gal does: I went dancing with the girls at the  Heat Ultra Lounge in Anahiem. It was legit. Hot guys, great drinks, and a kickin lounge. I probably will make a point to go back.

Now, what happened over the next few hours was playful, fun, and surprising – even to yours truly who is a clubbing veteran. I went with a group of girls who are outgoing, flirty and cute as all get up. At the same time, they are some of the strongest, godliest, amazing, “I know who I am and I’m going somewhere” women as well. Let’s put it this way – I wouldn’t have tagged ANY of them to be the type to give any club-guy their phone numbers. Nor would I have said that I am a person who gives out my number either. In fact, I have a designated fake number like any smart party girl does (which consequently is only a few digits off my real number –  you know, in case Ive had too much to drink and cannot hammer out a whole new fake number).

As we walked out on the dance floor, we began to attract some attention (4 cute girls – come on!), and it was only a matter of time before we were getting asked to dance. Being the coy women that we are, I think at one point early in the evening I even switched guys with one of my friends. She was dancing with an ever so slightly dorky blonde who I had my eye on. I signaled to her, she nodded in agreement – some fancy footwork ensued, I got my man and I was thrilled. As the night grew on and the music grew louder, all of us found ourselves paired off with hot and interesting guys. Exciting I know.

Don’t get too excited. This isn’t him. But it highly resembles him. Oh-la-la for sure.

Hot Nerdy Blonde was a great dancer, and as it turns out, we graduated from the same college. Once things had heated up, we headed outside for a breathe of fresh air to chat and cool off. And then it was back inside for some more flirting on the dance floor. However, as we crested 2:00am, and the house lights began to rise, we knew it was time for the Valentine’s Day romances to disband. It was then that I did something I NEVER do…I reached into my clutch and pulled out my card. With my REAL number on it. I gave it to Hot Nerdy Blonde, and smiled. I turned around to realize that all of my girlfriends (the amazing, intelligent ones who would NEVER give their numbers out at a bar), only to find that they had all given out their real numbers as well. We giggled all the way home.

 Several days after the Valentines venture, I got a text reading:

“Hey J….. – thanks for putting up with my very mediocre dance moves. hahha. Saturday was fun. We should meet up soon. -Hot Nerdy Blonde”

I was flattered. I blushed even. But I didn’t write him back. In my mind, very respectable Christian women DO NOT meet men in bars! We meet nice Christian guys at friend’s parties, bible studies, or e-harmony.com. So in light of these rules, I took the ego boost, and moved on with my week.

I soon found out however, how very wrong I was about the behavior of “Christian Women”.

I found out that my very admirable, responsible, honorable girlfriends went out on a double date with the guys that they met in the club. The boys called, they asked them to dinner, and it was only a matter of days before the four of them were laughing over cocktails. I KNOW. I was shocked. And totally felt jiped.

Cocktails and Wedding Rings.

 Here is the part where we tie this story in with Christian and Non-Christian men. Before talking to my girlfriends, (who admittedly will not date non-christian men) I was a bit confused as to why I didn’t get the memo that it was Kosher for us to go out with our club hotties. Because as I mentioned, we are all God loving women, and the idea of going on a date with a guy you met in a bar seems a little bit counter intuitive to me.

My one girlfriend came right out the gate and said it. I love her thought: “We aren’t going to marry the guys, and that’s just the thing. It’s just dinner. Christian guys don’t seem to get that. It’s like they have to know that they want to marry us before we can get a cocktail. These guys at least know how to get a number and take a girl out on a date.”

In some ways I see her point. I know a lot of guys who seem hesitant to get it out there. It’s like they’re so concerned about “being intentional” that they are paralysed. I think in the heaviness of trying to figure out of this girl is “God’s will for me” we forget to just laugh and have a drink. We forget that it’s just dinner. Girl’s aren’t made of glass, and if we go out for a dinner and it fizzles, so be it. We won’t break. We’ll move on.

At some point I overhead someone laughing about the idea that it seems that we get stuck thinking that we are all “Christian brothers and sisters.” Maybe guys  feels it’s like incest to look over at your “sister in Christ” and think ‘hmm….she’s hot. We should go out.’

I think a few of my Christian girlfriends have met far too many Christian men who flirt, make a point to see them in groups, but then never make a real move. Sometimes I have friends that have been “talking” to guys for an entire month before they every hit the “Dinner and Drinks” phase. And to contrast that to guys who took all of a week to get my friends out, a month does seem a bit absurd.

I do understand that there is a delicate balance in what I advocating. I’m not saying that all non-christian guys are perfect. I know for a fact that there are a fair share of tools out there (believe me, I have probably already dated them). And I’m not saying that Christian guys should be whoring-assholes. I’m just saying that maybe we should pop the pressure a little. Because to me it’s sad that my beautiful friends are willing to date non-Christians because those guys seem to be a little better at the dating game.

Apparently I’m a Hypocrite.

In hashing out this idea with my friend Suzanne, the first words out of her mouth was this:

“You know what this means? You have to call him. If you are writing a blog about men being able to ask a girl out, and you DID give him your number, then you need to call him back.”

Let’s just say that Suz was thoroughly thrilled when she found out that my friends went on dates with their club guys. She’d already been harassing me for weeks for not calling Hot Nerdy Blonde back. My apprent mistake regarding the acceptability of dating men that you met in a bar only added to her arguement.

I still don’t know if nice-God-loving girls like myself should be getting tied up with guys that they meet in bars…but I do see her point. I shouldn’t be that snooty. He’s putting it out there like I asked right?

So…tomorrow I’m going to call him. It’s been a month since he texted me, and it might be way  too late. But, like I said, I’m not made of glass, so if he doesn’t want me anymore  – I can be right on my way.

Keep you posted.

This morning I had breakfast with two of my favorite, fun-friends. I don’t know if you have fun-friends, but I highly recomend that you get some. They are the friends that encourage you to be glorious and goofy, honest and candid. And seemily, this is something that happens almost immediatly when meeting them. It’s almost like meeting a super hot guy that you have electrical chemistry with….excepet they are your friends, and you don’t want to make out with them. You just want breakfast and laughter with them. At least, I don’t make out with my fun friends.

Anyway, this morning we met at the Gypsie Den for breakfast. (Side note, before breakfast I got stuck in a time warp…my cell phone gitched to the wrong time, and since I am in the process of moving, it was the only clock I had. Needless to say Sophie was suprised when I called her and asked “Is is 9:42 or it is 10:21am?” Suprise, it was 10:21…which made me 20 minutes late. Oops. But clearly I had a solid excuse. “Time Warp Sophie. I can’t control the universe.”)

I realize that I love these two girls, because over 5 Grain Cereal (yes complete with puffed milk, bananas and nuts), we had conversation which moved 80 miles an hour, discussing the highs and lows of the week, relationships past, and the fact that we are fabulous (Yes, at any girls breakfast, this is a subject that does come up.) What I realized in talking to them, is that they really see me for the creative writer that I am, and encourage me to write – every day, all the time.

I left breakfast DYING to get to a computer because I felt so inspired by their thoughts. Sophie and Chris pointed out to me that I am not held captive to wearing a suit and walking into an office everday. Creativity and success can look so many different ways. And to this point I have been pushing to find a corporate job, they opened my eyes to the idea that I can persue my writing, and simply use my job as a means to a paycheck. Well, maybe a paycheck and some good writing material.

Ladies and Gentleman, I am contemplating divorcing Corporate America.

As you all know, I have some history with very corporate jobs. So naturally, the first thought I had when I got laid off was  to look for a marketing coordinator position, or something within the business world that will harness my skills at a communicator. And to be honest, after I got a “No” from this last position, I really felt burned. Maybe I was too pumped,or maybe I  set myself up for failure. Either way, I really wanted that job, as you might have noticed from this post I did right before the interview.

Now, it’s almost like I got broken up with by “job search”. I put my heart out there, and they gave the job to someone else. And like a Jr. High Girl, I want to turn around and say “Fine, job searching, I don’t need you. I’m not going to apply for jobs any more.”

Ok, so I’m not going to be one of those people who lives on unemployment forever, but all of a sudden I feel incredibly empowered. I realize, I don’t have to find a job that fits me. I just need to keep writing. And as far as how I make my money, I can do a million things. I am free to choose any job that I find INTERESTING. And I am free to take my time wandering around to find what that is….like a gypsie.

In my mind, I want to walk around in flowy skirts. I want to wear a grey beanie. I want to serve coffee and get tatoos. I want to be a bartender. I’m thinking about studying for that test for the Postal Service that I wrote on several months ago. I’m thinking about trying to find a job for a non-profit. Or working with a traveling group. Or being a roadie. Who cares?

Corporate Suit VS. Gypsie.

You have to understand where I am coming from. I’m the kid that did everything right. I went to high school, did sports, journalism, youth group, and got great grades. In high school I didn’t smoke, drink or have sex. I got into a good college. I got two degrees in four years, and graduated with honors. And even then, I still mainly walked the straight and narrow. I still don’t have tatoos, and always did what was expected. I wanted to go to Law School. I was a clean-cut good kid who always played by the rules.

Suddenly I feel relinquished. Free to work in a menial job and have it be ok. Free to ride and bus and write about it and have that be ok. Free to be artsy and eclectic. To leave the graph paper mindset behind and flow into graphic color.  I have never been more excited to be insiginificant. To be normal, and not have to be all put together.

Maybe this is the stuff most of you guys all figured out in college. Maybe you all really got a chance to experiment and find out what you wanted to do if you could do anything. Somehow I think I missed the boat. But late or never, I think I’m catching on. And it’s pretty glorious.

I told my mom tonight that I wanted to get my bartenders liscence and work in bar. I’m also thinking about not washing my hair for a while. I really think that’s actually gross, but it’s fun to think about. I also told my mom I was thinking of tatoos. She didn’t respond. Neither did my dad. It was great.

The Bachelor is like Socially Acceptable Polygamy

Give it several weeks and an “After the Rose Ceremony” scandal later- I think we are all beginning to realize the depth of the sick and twisted show we have created. After seeing this season’s finale, we are all thinking along the same lines as Lincee,  The Bachelor’s long time Recapping blogger: “Can we get the ABC psychotherapist over here please?“

Many people have argued, “I’m sure it was all in the contracts for Jason to have to show everything on camera, and it wasn’t really his fault.” In some ways, I am sure they are right. After all, ABC is like any other corporation – they are about MAKING MONEY. They don’t care about feelings,  people, and the right things to do- at the end of the day, it’s the ratings that matter. I’d love to say that there are other corporations that look beyond those things, but in reality,  it’s the “Show me the money” mentality that really makes the world go round.

So, here is my question. At what point did we fail to recognize this image: 

is UNCANNILY similar to the show about Fundamentalist Mormons who actively practice polygamy:

See the resemblance? And while we all turn our noses up at the Fundamentalist LDS hiding away in Utah, saying that they are sick and gross…every week we faithfully tune into The Bachelor to watch women struggle for power by seeking the favor in the eyes of one man. (And by we, I mean me. It’s a car wreck, and I can’t seem to look away).

I know we aren’t supposed to get this riled up about a TV show, but I think there is so much going on here below the surface, it’s unbelievable.

First of all, I’d like to point out, that if the producers of ABC did this intentionally, they are amazing. And disgusting. Maybe the actions of this season was a ploy. Maybe ABC has decided to capitalize on the emotional that all women have in common: the ability to hate men just a little bit. I’m not saying that all men are chauvinistic pigs. What I am saying is that all women have had interactions with men being chauvinistic pigs. Rejected because “I’m sorry, I’m still in love with someone else,” or being told “I’m sorry, I just can’t do this.” (Funny, my last two relationships ended one of those two phrases.)

If someone at ABC realized this, and decided to “Creatively” move the show in a direction in an attempt to strike on those chords in The Bachelor viewing population…that is pure genius. Manipulative  and sickening. But still genious. You may think that I am taking this too far, but honestly, working in corporate America I know first HAND that what really matters is the green. And if we can push rules or break hearts to get it, we will.

Secondly, let us all agree that JASON IS A TOOL. This should come as no surprise to any of us. As so aptly put by my friend Jeff, “Whatever man can look at a room full of women and say ‘my future wife is in this room.’ is a tool.” Agreed.

Breaking up with someone on public television? I think our hearts ALL broke for Melissa a little bit. It was clear that she was genuine when she agreed to the show. She felt real emotions. And contract or no contract, it is obvious that she got the short end of the stick.
Starting a new relationship with Molly? Seriously? We couldn’t even wait a commerical break after ending your engagement to start a new relationship? Excuse me, I just threw up in my mouth a little bit.

But here is the part that makes me FURIOUS: YOU HAVE A THREE YEAR OLD SON. So, going on the show the first time with Deanna wasn’t enough time and disruption into your son’s life, you had to go again for a second round. Do you know what kind of mental damage you can do to a three year old, showing him that love is a game show? And Jason stands up there, talking about Ty like he is the world to him…yet he had no issues with taking 2 seasons worth of shooting time away from “his little boy.” Right. Which makes you a tool.

Third, why is it the girls that always have to be so sure?  Correct me if I’m wrong, but it seems that we have got it all backward. Having roomfuls of women waiting to be with a man, fawning over his ever move doesn’t seem to motivate him to pursue. Maybe I’m old fashioned, but when a guy finds me interesting or cute, ask me on a date. Yes you should be nervous. It’s called a risk. And yes I am worth taking that risk. I hate it how in the show,  the girls to have prove that they are sooo sure, having NO doubts that he is the one! Yet, he can turn around and say “Gee Melissa, your parents didn’t want to meet me. Now I’m really having doubts that you are committed. I don’t know if I can propose to you know.”

Aren’t we supposed to have doubts? Isn’t that part of the journey? Aren’t we suppose to have doubts and take risks, trusting when its hard and letting people see your uglies? Then you hope to God that your uglies aren’t bad enough to scare them away. That’s called a R-E-L-A-T-I-O-N-S-H-I-P.  As an old date of mine used to say, “You simply need to meet someone who is willing and able to deal with your demons.” Too bad we didn’t work out…he was one smart guy.

Did it ever dawn on the women that ABC was paying for all of these romantic excursions, and maybe in real life Jason was cheap?I want to know what happens when they get back to Seattle, and Molly is going, “Where’s the limo Jason? I want to ride downtown to pick out a new dress so we can fly to Paris for dinner.” And Jason is going, “Sorry Molly, I don’t have any money. I had to quit my job to do two seasons of  The Bachelor, so…how do you like Top Ramen?”

All in all, we all know that The Bachelor is a train wreck. Usually, I just avoid it all together. If I wanted to barf once a week, I could take up bulimia. This season however, I chose to have it induced every Monday night. And even though the girls signed up for a train wreck, I really do feel for Melissa. I hope she finds love. The real kind. The “you look like shit and smell awful…but come here let me kiss you” kind.

I suppose the only thing that could redeem this season is knowing the Jillian is going to be the Bachelorette next season. She kicks ass.

Jean Paul Richter (1763 -1825)

 You might look at this statement and wonder which of the three possible character qualities you have. You might think out several examples of times were you’ve had  to face your fears to pin point real life examples of who you might be. Or like me, you might just automatically say, “I’m courageous,” thinking you are a brave person with a good conscious. And also like me….you could be wrong.

Last night I went out to dinner with some friends. And the plan was to go for a 10-Mile-Midnight-Jog around the bay. Admittedly, after a lamb souvlaki platter, the idea of midnight running brought to mind this image:

 But I’m athletic and always up for something fun. It didn’t take long though, before others in my party began seeing the same outcome and the idea was nixed.

So around midnight, we were leaving my friend’s house. And seeing that parking in apartment complexes around here is not always easy, we had to walk across a parking lot to get to my car. Suddenly, from down a dark corridor off to my right, comes a white and black dog running full speed at us – barking, gnarling, bearing it’s teeth, foaming at the mouth. I screamed. And as it got closer and showed no sign of stopping, I was sure we were going to get attacked. And get rabbis. And die. A horrible death.

Really, I am not being sarcastic when I post this photo. It was the end. My friend and I were GONERS.  So I scream, and seeing that we were with strapping men, I stand behind my one friend.

But let me preface this next part by saying just one thing: I was bitten in the face by a dog when I was 2 years old. Part of my eyelid was bitten off. In college, I had two surgeries to try to make my eyelid look a bit more “normal,” and even though the evidence of the accident was minor, I still don’t have eyelashes on most of right eyelid. (Believe me, this is important).

So, as I am realizing that the dog is not slowing, I stand behind my friend. And even though he is 5′2 like me, he is a burly climber, and a beast of a man. But as I am screaming, and hiding behind my friend, in my sheer panic, I begin shoving him toward the angry dog and screaming, “Take him, take him he has more meat!!”

Needless to say, the dog did not attack us. In fact, it stopped two feet from us and just kept barking. And then it’s owner came out, screamed at the dog and pulled it back into her house.

Which then left me and my friend standing in the darkness, and I was laughing and sobbing uncontrollably in sheer terror. “Are you ok?” my friend says.  More laughing and crying. And as the panic of the moment quickly wears off, my friend turns to me and says, “Really?? REALLY? Take him he has more meat on him!? Good to know that when it really come down to it, you would sacrifice me to a dog.”

I’m still embarrassingly laughing about it even now. I mean, I would love to look in the mirror every morning believing that I am a bold, courageous person who looks to put others first in a crisis situation. But clearly, I have a proven track record of being a coward.

Words to the wise…maybe I’m not your best rock climbing belay on a multipitched climb. Maybe I just shouldn’t be trusted in any situation where our lives are at stake. Because although I may love you, chances are pretty good that I can get you killed.

And even though you might be pretty sure that you are the hero that saves people and feels fear later, you know you’re a coward if … you find yourself throwing your friends at rabid dogs.