This Is Me, Judging You.

Things I hear a lot:
"You're SO non-judgemental!"
"Farrah's just not a Molly- not at all!"
"I knew YOU'd be cool enough to handle it."

Thanks for the compliments. But I need to correct you. I am not "cool" with someone's inappropriate jokes or demeaning comments in his lame attempts to be charming or funny. I am totally a "Molly," and f*ing proud of it. And I am SO judging you right now.

The truth is, I AM judgmental.* Here's why:

I don't spend time with people I don't like. I don't care if that makes me "nice" or not- I figure someone who decided to screw over another and prove that they are a complete jerk, well, that pretty much ends my interest in knowing them. To the women who use men for gifts and money- get your own job and buy your own stuff. I don't respect your ways and I don't want to be associated with you. To those who have hooked up with someone and then ignored them- I don't want any chance of anybody thinking I support your poor character. To the people who lie, manipulate, purposely hurt and abuse others- I think you're scum. Dirty, dirty scum. If you can't be decent and value basic human life, you suck. And I don't care how many social events I may see you at; I do not want to acknowledge you as a friend simply because we are surrounded by mutual acquaintences. Am I burning bridges here? You betcha. At some point, we need to make a stand and be strong enough to reject wickedness. And if that means burning some bridges, then the whole f*ing world can blaze. Because the people left surrounding you will all be ones you can trust, inside and out. I'd rather have them in my corner than 5 bazillion jackasses who'd sell out for a dime.

I really like the fact that my friends are all people I respect. I am friends with really amazing individuals. We may not have anything in common, we may not do the same things, we may not appear to "fit;" but one thing I can say is that I can look at every single friend of mine in the eye, and appreciate them for who they are and what they represent.** Sometimes the only thread that ties us is a mutual respect and appreciation (or a love of Law and Order)- these friendships are cherished because we find value in one another. Not gain. Not status. Just pure appreciation for another human being.

We are all children of God. We are all worthy of His love. And while I would never waste my time or energy to actively slander someone else's name, I will certainly not allow a bad character to use their association with me to promote themself as a person worth knowing. Straighten yourself out and do right. THEN, maybe we can be friends.

* John 7:24, Jacob 6:12
** I have A LOT of friends. And they are good people. And if you screw one of them over, don't expect me to go out of my way to acquire you as one.

Monsters.

This is an excellent solution to the monsters under our beds. Thank you, little girl.
I can't wait to have children just so I can manipulate them into using profanity. See? It's just so-darned CUTE!

Mom Stands Up For Manners.

My friend, Veeda, is a brilliant writer (see: The Veeda Weekly or Cancer Candy). Her latest endeavour is to win a trip to New York with Borders and Mitch Albom. Let's help her win it.*

Mom Stands Up For Manners
It was a dirty joke that threatened my place in the dining room that night. Landing a coveted spot at the grown-ups table was unheard of, but that night I was miraculously upgraded to join my parents’ entourage. I was given strict instructions: keep my elbows off the table; say “please”; and chew with my mouth closed.

After the plates were cleared, a dinner guest started into a saucy description of a woman’s dress. My mom coughed. Dad glanced in my direction. The guest stopped his comments. Turning to his left, the man noticed the 8-year-old girl seated beside him.

“Oh, there’s a kid in the room!” he boomed. He cocked his head towards me and winked. “Well honey. Maybe it’s time you went and played with your toys so the grown-ups can have more adult conversation.”

I was crestfallen. I was polite to the point of frustration the entire evening. I said “thank you,” for vegetables I wasn’t thankful for. “Excuse me” when I knocked over my water and “please pass the salt” when mom caught me reaching. All these good manners wasted by someone else’s bad behavior.

I started to vacate my beloved seat when Mom stood up first. “If it’s inappropriate for my daughter to hear, then it’s probably not best at this table,” she said. She stood behind me and placed her hands on my shoulder. “Veeda, why don’t you tell everyone about the story you wrote in school?” she said. “After you finish come help me get dessert in the kitchen.”

Excited to remain at the big table I told my tale of the princess and the dragon. Mom gave me the spotlight that night for a brief second and the feeling of love for a lifetime.

To vote for Veeda's article, go to:
http://www.gather.com/viewArticle.jsp?articleId=281474976967708

*You probably have to do something zany like register with Borders, but it's worth it if we can send the Veeda to NYC. Her mother would agree.

Speaking of Male Enhancement---

Dallas- This one's for you.
With all the questions you're giving me on male appearance and enhancement, I thought I'd let you know that push-ups are preferable to push-up bras (in your case).

Just a tip.

LOST: WTF?!?

I know I asked for more of THIS:

But I didn't mean for it to translate into Sanjaya taking over Jack's island!

Come ON!

The Natural Man.

Being home reminded me of a lot of things. For instance, the magic and joy of nature. I love cardinals. I love blue jays. I love that, even now when I see them, it is like a little gift that makes my heart pitter-patter to see one flitter by. They are so bright and so beautiful, and even if they're "common," I still find the sighting of one to be completely unexpected and delightful. But do you know what? The brightly coloured birds are always male. The females of either species are a rather dull, unnoticable brown colour. Interesting.

We often hear the excuse that men are bound by nature to be promiscuious. That it is natural for one man to mate with multiple women. IT'S SCIENCE. But did anyone pick up on the fact that, in nature, it's the males who are putting out all the effort in order to attract a female? Nature proves that men are giving those females a darn good reason to clamour in and line up. But in human culture, somehow it's become the women who feel the need to "prove themselves" or compete for the attentions of a male. So really, "according to science," men should be putting out all KINDS of reasons for women to desire them. According to nature, it seems that men should be the ones showing off abs and tight pants and low-cut shirts. Maybe men should think about pec implants and hilights and working out and dieting...I mean, if everything is about natural instinct in order to mate, perhaps it is men who should enchance their natural charms with expensive perfumes and makeup and "push-up" undergarments, while women are homely and blend into the scenery as best they can, fattening up for the winter in order to protect their families.

I'm no ornothologist, but it seems like (unless you are Jake-beautiful and crawling with $$$ and casually drape your body in Armani) that whole "nature" excuse might be a poor defense for the fellas.

Stupid Diseases and Other Ills.

So you all know I have an issue with my equalibrium. I say I spent most of last week laughing because I thought, "of all the things to happen, just falling over has got to be one of the stupidist illnesses EVER." Or at least the most embarassing. But then I remembered these real diseases and felt less bad about my own:

• Narcolepsy. You just. Fall asleep. Whenever. Wherever. I think I'm partially narcoleptic because this seems to happen every time I get in the backseat of a car or take public transport. ANY kind of public transport. This means I travel GREAT.* Personally, I call that a GIFT.
• Tourette's Syndrome. Danny, in Jerusalem, was usually offensive (but funny, so we liked him). He used to brag that he always spoke his mind, with no filter, and just anything he was thinking just came out of his mouth. He said it was being honest. I said it was called "Tourettes."
• The Hanta Virus.** It's real. And it kills. Quickly. But you know what? You get it from breathing in dust from mouse poop. Seriously.

There have got to be more. And they must be worse than just falling over like a 2 year old trying to stand for the first time. Right? Go ahead. Make me feel better.
* Boston- I'm coming for YOU.
** Corbettron- that one's for you. Thanks.

Body By Dance.

I have no idea why they didn't ask me to be in this video. But I love it.

I used to have a picture of a sweaty, muddy soccer player and beside him I wrote:

We Are Young, We Are Strong,

And We Are Living A Great Adventure.

I miss that poster.

PS-

Tell your Boston Friends I'm coming this weekend. Have them call me.

-f.

What's In My Brain.

This is probably the most expensive CD I own. How many people have pictures of their own brain? At least I know for sure now that it's there. It's smaller than I'd hoped. But cuter than I'd imagined. What does that mean?

(pictures to be posted when I can figure out how.)

MRI:
I don't even know what that stands for, but what it means is that I got to lay down on a paper sheet and stick my head inside a giant glowing tube while "Brian" blasted sonic rays to get pictures of my brain. It rates about a 7 on the Fun-O-Meter. Mostly because they put your head inside a big cage- I felt like Hannibal Lecter, and give you gaint foamy earphones to listen to music (since the process is rather loud and jarring- like listening to waves of jackhammers).

First thing I heard when Brian turned on the tunes:
"I think I'll go to BOSTON- I think I'll find a new life!" ahhh, I sigh. HOME. It's a sign. I WILL go to Boston. But just for the weekend to see my grandfather. He's 94 and was just sent home from the hospital with leukemia. Not good. So- Bostonites, get ready. I'm coming to ya. Call me.

Second song on the playlist? "How to Save a Life," by The Fray. How appropriate. And comforting. Sort of.

Then Brian pulls me out of the iron lung to inject me with something meant to light up my brain like a Christmas tree. Or, at least, the parts that say I might have a tumor or MS should light up- so we're hoping for NO LIGHTS in the upstairs here, folks. And what song comes on when I'm put back in the hole? You got it.

And I pretty much guarantee that if you look into my brain, that's EXACTLY what you'll see.

Like A Fat Kid Loves Cake.

This one is for the boys. The following examples are real, so names have been omitted to protect the not-so-innocent.

I am often labeled as "commitment-phobic." Mostly by my girlfriends and men I won't go out with more than twice. Either way, the term bothers me. I get this accusation because I ENCOURAGE men to go out with other women, and am pleased to find out the man I'm seeing is dating (or has dated) women I respect and admire. I figure it says a lot about his character and his mature choice to be with quality women. Bonus.

That being said, I think INTENT is the real culprit. We SHOULD "date around" out of a respect for one another, and desire to know and appreciate and genuinely get to know value the people around you. Let's just keep the love you make equal to the love you take. ie: You don't need to call her day and night and dominate her week if your intent is not to be a serious part of her life. Don't IM her and text for 5-8 hours a day and then say that you want to "keep things light." Don't make out with someone you don't really intend to see the next day, and don't feel that you need to make promises you don't intend to keep. Most women are pretty happy just going out and having a good time and getting to know you- you need not worry that we become basketcases just because the last girl you dated was a Stage 3 Clinger.

Keep in mind that the reason most women behave inconsistantly is because the man they are with has begun treating them inconsistantly. She probably wouldn't pester you so much to define things if you had given her the reassurance that you do respect her, appreciate her, and genuinely care for her by treating her with a consistant message. Whether that message is, "I'm just not that into you" because you only go out once every few weeks, or "I am so intense on you that I'm not interested in anyone else" because you are texting, calling, IMing constantly and hanging around every night, or "I like you enough to keep seeing you, and let's get to know each other" by planning in advance and asking her out once a week or so- YOU are the one sending the message on what expectations we should have of you.

Now I will be the first to admit, I will always try the sample-cup before making a triple-combo with brownie mix-ins at the Golden Spoon. Literally and figuratively. But I know what I'm there for. Unfortunately, some people are just fat kids in a pastry shop, sticking their fingers willy-nilly in the frosting and sampling all the flavors with no intent to purchase anything.

And fat kids. Man, I really hate them.

Fall Down, Go Boom.

I'm posting this so that the lovely people who care and who have been calling with concern get the full story on what's been happening with me. I would like to note that I am not sick, I am never sick, and if I or anyone else I know is even mildly ill, this Asian farmgirl will cure it with one of five things:
Bag Balm
Tiger Balm
Duct Tape
Superglue
Those little green pills I get from Chinatown that I don't know what they are exactly because it's all written in Chinese...but they definitely work.

While I am not ill, I did have an incident recently. Water got in my ear and it bothered me for a couple of days (like when you go on a plane and your ears don't pop), progressing to a slightly annoying echo/ringing. Thursday I woke up and just fell over. Equalibrium has always been a struggle. The dizziness didn't go away, so I was advised to see a specialist and not drive (thanks for looking out for me, guys). I spent most of Thursday laughing about what a stupid illness it was to have equalibrium issues and trying to find a ride to the doctor's.

(This is a picture of the last time I was "sick." Up until I lost it, this trip was pure bliss. And I don't count it as being sick, since no one warned me that a quart of guava juice is "too acidic" for sailing. Sorry about the mess, boys. But now we know. Now we all know.)

Dr C checked everything out, and did NOT (as I thought) need to "drain me." In fact, he sees NOTHING wrong, so he thinks it may be nerve damage. Apparently the teeny-tiny nerves in our eardrums can just sieze and pop for no good reason, causing damage to hearing, possible permanant hearing loss, and lack of balance (leading to headaches and this weird seasick feeling I have been growing ever so fond of). When he said "permanant damage," the tears just started. I grabbed his arm and plead, "Please. Music is REALLY important to me. (sniffle.) Music is just a REALLY big part of my life. (tear.) I NEED my hearing to be PERFECT." (Note that he said, "damage," not "deafness.") Anywhoo. So yes. That visit was traumatic. Dr C said he needs a hearing test and an MRI- and that really dropped the stressbomb.* Thankfully, Krista had some good advice, Tami helped get my prescriptions, and the cute boy from last year let me hide from him at the pharmacy since I looked like a hobo. That was kind. Then Brandon and Jeremiah gave me a comforting blessing and I slept soundly.

So Bree took me back for 2 hours of hearing/eye tests Friday, where the ever-so-nice Ethan made me laugh and assured me during the tests that I did MUCH better than the senior citizens he usually met with. (HA! Take THAT, Geriatrics!) Of course, one of the tests made me incredibly dizzy and it was clear that even when I thought I wasn't dizzy, I definitely was. Poop.
Now I have to go back for another test on Monday and a second opinion on Tuesday and at some point an MRI (which just scares the bejeezus out of me). So. Those of you who have been so sweet to call and check on me- Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. I heart each and every one of you. To those of you who have been concerned: I don't need anything.** I am not "sick." I'm not bleeding out my eyes. I'm not falling down stairs (or mountains, my Havasupi friends). I'm just mildly dizzy most of the time which gives me a constant headache (that basically makes up for 30 years of never having a headache, I suppose). This just means I'm not very chatty right now and I'm not allowed to drive. So you can post your comments and I'll check in this way, so you know I haven't passed away on you. Other than that, I am okay and really looking forward to the KCRW Lily Allen/The Shins concert tonight.

I have the earplugs if you wanna drive. Call me.
* Normally I only cry in really amazing films and Hallmark commercials. Considering that earlier in the week I bawled through most of It Could Happen To You, I'm blaming the moon for this uncharacteristic outpour of emotion.
** Driving IS the one thing I need help with! I am not allowed to drive, which really cramps my workweek. And my concert schedule. So if you want to help, that would hit the spot! Other than that, I will sit and watch tivo with you whenever you want. I'm not really going anywhere.
*** Also- I totally forgot to do my taxes. Anyone want to send me to someone that will actually get me a return? Thank you.

Everything That is Wrong With Our Society Today.

Liquorhouse Girls (and all other guilty parties): This is for you.

Self-Respect went out the window with Reality Television. Competitions like this embarass me (and I am never embarassed), because they all combine the following elements:

• Imaginary Competition: We can all call it right off the bat- 92% of the people on these shows will never be anyone's Idol, Bachelorette, or Ms Anything- so please, spare us the sordid details of "auditioning" yourself, and just go home with some slight shred of dignity while the people who might actually make something of themselves develop.
• Crying in Public is bad enough- but come on, hunny. This is National TV. Please. Just. Don't. It won't win you votes, sympathy, or a man, so please. Suck it up and pull yourself together.
• Completely Unrealistic Situations. I hate to tell you this, but- that's not his castle, the judges are kind to even acknowledge you exist, and your performance will be manipulated by a producer anyway- because, well- you're just manufactured by the editors.
• Insecurity and Ingratitude. Don't let people judge you. Who is anyone to judge you anyway? Don't pander. And don't whine. And don't bother backstabbing to get ahead. We can all see you. If anything, you are having experiences and opportunities that would otherwise NOT EXIST for you. So enjoy the ride for what it is, and shut your whiney trap, because no one really gives a damn anyway.
• Manufactured Celebrityism. My loathing for this disturbing trend of "Celebrityism" is a whole 'nother topic. Suffice to say: Being on TV does not make you talented, special, OR important. It makes you a gimmick for ratings. You should be more. We should all be more.

Note: A television show does NOT make or break you. If you want it so badly that you're willing to display all of the above, maybe you should go out and pursue your dream- not depend upon a network to tell you if you're valuable/likeable/beautiful/talented. At least now you know what you want to do. And that's more than most people can say! Now go out and be a productive member of society and contribute something and leave your mark by making a difference, for heaven's sake. Because quite frankly, I've forgotten who you are already.

*Whatever happened to good writing with compelling storylines and talented actors? Wasn't that writing strike that sprouted the Reality TV series over with by 1998? Because I'll tell you this, Network TV People: If I wanted reality, I wouldn't be watching television. I'm open to Worst Moments of Reality TV and Things Worth Watching That Won't Completely Infuriate Me By Being A Vapid Wast of My Precious Space on TiVo.

Kick Out the Jamz.

I was out running with my boyfriend, iPod, and was turning around to head back when suddenly, out of nowhere!, Kenny Loggins hollered at me:
Dig way down in your heart, you're yearning, burning for some- somebody to tell you that life ain't passing you by! I'm trying to tell you it will if you don't even try. You can fly if you'd only cut loose, footloose! Kick off your Sunday shoes!
And do you know what I did? Well I just kept on runnin'. Yes, sir. That is EXACTLY what I did for another mile or so- just cuttin' loose. FOOTLOOSE.

It's like when I run and all of a sudden, I think, "Yes! YES!!! We ARE a part of The Rhythm Nation!" (Thank you, Miss Janet-If-You're-Nasty.) And then I noticed the inordinate amount of LL Cool J on my Dance, Dance Revolution playlist (which I also like to run to, and sometimes maybe wave my arms around and sing along), and I wondered:
What's on YOUR Kick Out The Jams playlist? What makes you want to cut loose, footloose? What knocks Mama out?
Feel free to post as many suggestions as often as you like. There's nothing I like more than sharing a new playlist with iPod!

Speaking of Fictitious 80s Experiences-

Katie Rose's favourite part of this video were the hip thrusts. Mine is that undeniable synthasizer beat...And Hugh Grant.* sigh. Everything I could ever want from a fictional band from the 80s.
I like to play this song as I browse last weekend's Awesomely Bad Prom Photos. It just adds so much texture to the experience. Listening to/Watching this video is like a "Where's Waldo" of pure 80's heaven. The amazing choreography and swizzle-hand motions, the hi-tech split-screen action, the puffy pirate shirt...And did I mention the outstanding keyboard action? I'm a sucker for rhythmic beats. It honestly just gets better and better with each viewing.

Do you remember YOUR first video viewing? Mine was A-Ha- "Take On Me." So artistic and unexpected, right? And I remember running home- RUNNING HOME!-with my mom to catch the first viewing of Madonna's "Who's That Girl" (with all her former music videos preceeding the inaugral showing in 1987). That was one special evening with Mom. Years later I suggested we start celebrating Family Home Evening, and my mom thought we should go to the Madonna concert. I said I didn't think the Mormons would like that very much. She (The Lady Madge) was later banned from Rachel's house due to the cone-bra incident on tour. Just goes to show- some Parents Just Don't Understand.**

* This video alone was worth the price of admission to me. Sure, Drew Barrymore was that inexplicably odd-but-supposed-to-be-endearing character, and I found the age difference rather unsettling, but...Have you SEEN this video?!?! I want Hugh Grant now, too.
** That would be the rap every single Walker kid learned by heart. Tell me you loved it, too. Zips. Ha! Some moms...Honestly.

Expensive Mistakes.

And they were all in one weekend. Good thing I'm such a miser in Real Life. This way I can afford all my expensive weekend mistakes.

Speeding + Traffic School from business trip: $202
DMV Renewal (I was going to do it any minute now...): $132
Friday's Post-80s Prom* Breakfast at Harbour House: $18
Isaac's Concert + obligatory sugar-high (thanks, Karen): $14
Running out of gas in BFE, San Onofre: $32
Being rescued by Marines from Camp Pendelton: PRICELESS.

I was really wishing I had a camera with me. This weekend was truly priceless. Especially the drift off the freeway and walking up to 3 Marines, smiling, waving, and yelling, "I'm in distress!" I had prayed to float home off the fumes, determined to drive on faith alone. I may have been late for the Morning Session of General Conference, but the Lord gave me the opportunity to give out 3 dedicated Book of Mormon's and 3 Protein Bars to my new heros.

Prayer works. Amen.
*Thanks to the resourceful and stylish Eckman for the amazing prom dress. After trying on many sequined, lace-abounding, ill-fitting gowns from a suspect-smelling Salvation Army, I realized I haven't felt that unattractive SINCE the 80s. Seriously. My other option would have surely resulted in hives.
I promise you, I NEVER felt this cool in the 80s.
Notice that Kevin is with several women. But when a man wears leopard print spandex and plays the tambourine, that's just what's to be expected at prom. Rawr. It really was this awkward...